


For all that's unquestioned

by MilesOfWords



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Coming Out, Doesn't Mean it isn't Worth It, Getting Together, Healthy Relationships, Law School, M/M, Matt Stops Hiding, Matt's Senses Revealed, Non-binary Foggy Nelson, Non-binary character, Slow Build, The Nelson Family are Awesome, The Truth Always has Consequences, alternating pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-06-08 07:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 63,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15238158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilesOfWords/pseuds/MilesOfWords
Summary: "Actually, I’ve been thinking about the situation ever since you told me about your true Kal-El self, and I still can’t come up with a solid case for keeping your abilities a secret. Not when the cost is never being yourself."Elektra’s departure is a catalyst for change, not just for Matt but for Foggy as well. Unsurprisingly, it’s Foggy who leads the way.





	1. Treasures, Real and Imagined

Foggy plodded his way up the stairs. Third floor dorm room. Not a big deal if he wasn’t juggling two coffees, his satchel, _and_ three textbooks that hadn’t been designed to fit into anything less than a suitcase, or maybe an old-fashioned trunk. Man, he could use Hermione’s beaded bag right now! Sure, it would be a bold look but, hey, he could totally make it work. He just needed to come up with a work-around for the fact that it was both fictional and, frankly, a little implausible even within that particular realm of magic.

Or how about everyone just agree to stop blending up _zillions_ of trees into paper soup just so they can be rolled out and printed up with fascinating things like civil procedure and statutory interpretation? Because, you know: electronic media. It’s a thing! And hey, extra plus, no need for super huge, mega expensive Braille texts for Matt.

Oh, damn. Matt needed the beaded bag more than Foggy did, and Foggy just _knew_ he would give it to him. After a term of mostly happy cohabitation, Foggy was well aware that the whole _best bud’s_ thing was not for the faint of heart. But it was fine. No problem. Matt didn’t have the kind of pizzazz that could turn beads into a statement, but he’d be so earnest in appreciating the convenience. He’d respect the bag. Value it.

Whew! Third floor.

Of course, if Foggy ever got his hands on the invisibility cloak, he was absolutely keeping it for himself. The prank factor alone would be awesome! And, honestly, it’d be kind of a shame to cover Matt up with something like that, anyway. That face. Foggy gave quick praise to the deities of finely-honed facial proportionality… and also to those of relatively short corridors because: the door! At last!

He crouched down to put the books and coffee on the floor, so he could dig for his keys, then used both hands to begin the carefully perfected combination of key-turning and handle-jiggling that would open the door. ‘You here, Matt?’ he called. It was part of the turn-and-jiggle routine. These days it was also a bit like the whole tongue-and-sore-tooth deal, a momentary flare of masochistic familiarity, because of course Matt wasn’t in there. It was Saturday afternoon. Matt had disappeared some time yesterday, which was the new normal since Elektra came along. Yep! By the end of last term, Foggy had acquired one vanishing roommate – no cloak required.

He bent to pick up the coffee and books.

An empty dorm room wasn’t a problem. Not  at  all. It was good, actually. He was all set!

Foggy stared at the second cup of coffee. It was absolutely _not_ a cup full of wishful thinking, or even lament for the old times. It was, in fact, filled to the brim with motivation for Foggy to get the jump on his readings and knock out that Crim Law memorandum. Sure, it was only the beginning of week three, but this term was all about staying ahead of the game. And, alright, the coffee was black – but that was because there was no point going all fancy on the vanguard beverage. Foggy’d just knock it back, get to work, and then slowly savour the luxury of his caramel mocha latte.

Yep. Time to jump right in and get things done!

He eased through the door and kicked it shut behind him.

‘Holy shit!’ he yelped, in a totally chill and laid-back kind of way.

There was a lump in Matt’s bed. A Matt-shaped lump. It was thoroughly buried, with just the inevitable tuft of floopy hair sticking out the top. Speculation, based upon the admittedly sketchy visible evidence, suggested the Matt-lump was thus far unresponsive to Foggy’s presence, and was also face-planted on the bed.

‘Matt? Are you awake?’ Foggy half-whispered.  He put the coffee, keys, and books on his desk, then dumped the satchel on his bed. Still no response. Foggy took off his coat and tossed it over the back of his chair. He pulled off his scarf and sent it to join the coat. The whole time, he watched Matt’s bed, looking for signs of life. ‘Matty? Sorry, it’s just… can you breathe like that, buddy? I mean, you are breathing, right?’ He stepped closer and stared. Yep. Matt was definitely alive. The covers were moving the slightest bit, in tandem with the unpleasantly rasping breaths that Foggy could hear now that he was kind of leaning into Matt’s space.

They didn’t sound like sleep-breaths.

So.

Maybe Matt just wasn’t feeling the whole ‘Q&A’ thing that would be part of a normal human interaction. No problem. Foggy knew how to give a guy space. If roommates couldn’t do that for each other, life sure got ugly, fast.

‘There’s coffee here for you if you want it, buddy. I’m just gonna... I mean, I’m here if you want to….’ Foggy watched the absence of response emanating from Matt’s bed for a few more seconds, then made himself turn away and sit at his desk.

‘Right! Crim Law,’ he said. ‘You know I’m a study-talker, Murdock. You’re gonna hear all about mandatory sentencing unless you tell me to stop. Or, you know, you can let me know what Marshall had to say about it, or whatever. Right.’ Foggy took a sip of his delicious caramel mocha. He pushed Matt’s coffee over to where Matt would be able to reach it, just in case, then powered up his laptop and got to work.

 

By Sunday night, Foggy was satisfied with his effort. He was ahead in all his required reading, had given more than a cursory glance at a lot of the recommendeds, and written a damn fine analysis for his memorandum. Of course, his side of the room was now littered with empty Cheetos bags, coffee cups— _so many coffee cups_ —and instant noodle bowls, but such was the price of success.

Nothing significant had changed on Matt’s side of the room. No signs of study. Minimal signs of life.

By Wednesday morning, things were pretty much the same. The rubbish was gone—Foggy wasn’t a slob—but Matt had barely moved. Sure, he’d gotten up each night, gone to the bathroom, sometimes disappeared for a bit longer than that would require. And judging by the shoulder-to-knee topography of daytime-Matt, who remained shrouded in his covers, he didn’t seem to be trying to inhale his pillow any more. Still no words, though. No real movement. No class attendance. No actual performance of trivial student-type activities like study or the writing of endless papers. Just Kal-El-Matt, in his blankety Fortress of Solitude.

The whole scene was enough to shake Foggy out of his retrospectively ridiculous respect for Matt’s privacy. It was time for some relentless Nelson interference.

‘C’mon, Matt! Time to shake it off, buddy. You can’t ditch on Professor Alvarez. I’m pretty sure if anyone knows how to kill someone in front of a room full of witnesses and still avoid a conviction, it’s her. Besides, you like her class! And she likes having you in her class! The rest of us can feel it, man. That whole totally-ethical but also super-nerdy mutual appreciation thing you’ve got going on. You’re her favourite, Matty. Don’t make her kill her favourite.’

When there was no response, Foggy eased down onto the edge of Matt’s bed. ‘Buddy, seriously, I’m getting worried, here,’ he said. It was true. This wasn’t like Matt at all. Not the Matt he’d spent the last five months or so getting to know.

So, yeah, Foggy was concerned. Less comfortable, but equally true: he was becoming just the smallest bit peeved. Because, yes, he cared about Matt more than… well… he cared _a lot_ , but he could also multi-task his own emotions like a pro. And, honestly, after three days, the silent treatment was getting old.

And, hey! Who’d have thought Foggy would come to miss the times when Matt was almost never around? Because, yeah, it hurt when Matt had pretty much bailed on them spending time together, but it turned out it was also painfully uncomfortable being in a room with someone who was hiding during the day and skulking around at night, presumably to specifically avoid interacting with Foggy. Space? Sure. No problem. But they were approaching the 90-hour mark—just a ballpark figure—and even Foggy’s robust self-esteem wasn’t totally immune to being ignored.

So, yeah, time to shake things up. Gently, though. Shake gently. Because, mostly, Foggy was concerned.

‘Look, Matt, tell me if I’m wrong here, but I’m guessing Elektra dumped you, right? I’m gonna take silence as agreement, by the way, unless you tell me otherwise. And, yeah, it sucks, man. I know. Lord, do I know. And I get it. She was super-hot and rich, and you obviously enjoyed being with her. I’m sure she was amazing. But you’re a hot young thing with a future, man! I’m not gonna be that friend who tells you there are plenty more fish in the sea, or whatever. But, Matty, you can’t blow off everything because of this. She was already messing with your success when you were together – even though she was fully awesome and everything. But, just… you can’t let her ruin everything now that she’s gone. You can’t let her ruin us. We’re best buddies, man. When you’re off-balance, so am I.’

And there it was. The hopeless whining tone that Foggy had been choking back ever since Elektra happened and everything started to change.

Matt shuffle-rolled until his blanket-lump self was no longer turned to the wall. And, hey, if it was pathos that moved blanket-mountains, Foggy could go there. He took a calming breath and reminded himself that this was Matt, the guy he would selflessly give non-existent but incredibly useful magical artefacts to.

‘She’s gone,’ Matt said, and it was obviously more than just the days of not speaking that made his voice sound fragile and small.

Foggy wished, he _really_ did, that he was a better person – the kind who wasn’t even a tiny bit glad for the confirmation that Elektra Natchios was out of Matt’s life. He put the swell of satisfaction aside, though, and called on his well-rounded experience in the field of being dumped.

‘I’m sorry, man. Honestly. Do you want to tell me what happened?’

There was a long silence, during which Foggy relaxed his hold on the ‘getting to class on time’ part of the plan. It was cool. No problem.

Eventually, Matt pulled the blanket down enough that Foggy could see the top half of his face. ‘It just… it didn’t work out,’ Matt rasped.

Uh huh. Right. ‘Matt, you’ve barely moved in the last four days. You haven’t spoken. You haven’t eaten. Oh, wow! You haven’t, have you? Actually, strike that: Nelson conditioning. We’ll come back to the fact that you need a decent meal. What I’m trying to say is that it seems like there’s more to it than just _it didn’t work out_. You don’t have to tell me about it, but… actually, yeah, you probably should. Talk it out, man! It’ll help, really.’ He patted awkwardly at Matt’s leg while ruthlessly suppressing the urge to offer him anything from the snack stash Foggy kept in a box under his desk. They were both clear on Matt’s opinion of The Stash.

‘C’mon, buddy. Did you fight? Was it over money, sex, what? Was she a jerk about the blind thing? The Catholic thing? I mean, not every breakup needs to be bitter, but she obviously hurt you, man. So, humour me: complain, lament, analyse – whatever you need. You know you can talk to me.’

‘I don’t….’ Matt paused to clear his throat, then spent a ridiculously long time shuffle-squirming until he was leaning against his headboard.

It was the first time Foggy had seen him clearly in days. The strident facial hair was a bit of a shock.

Having spent so much time with Matt, Foggy knew that at least twenty percent of the unflappable Murdock poise was, in fact, a façade. It was an illusion Matt worked hard to maintain, and Foggy understood. There were way too many people who assumed Matt was somehow vulnerable and lost. He wasn’t, and Foggy’s inner cheerleader had been known to bust some moves in support of the Unshakeable-Murdock guise – because why give ableist arseholes the satisfaction of twisting Matt’s perfectly normal human fragilities into whatever bullshit they believed. Right now, though, there was no poise, real or constructed.

‘I can’t really talk about what happened. It’s, ah….’ Matt took a breath that sounded shaky on its way in and out, then another.

Foggy waited, because, sometimes, with Matt, you just had to wait him out.

It didn’t work.

So! A bit less gentle, then. ‘Yeah, no, Matt. You _can_ talk about it. You don’t need secrets from me. Hell, just looking at you is already telling me a lot. You look rough, man. _So_ rough. And sad. Also, guilty or kind of disturbed or something, which is a tiny bit unsettling, honestly. And now I’m imagining all kinds of bad things. Don’t leave me at the mercy of my overactive imagination, buddy. Talk to me.’

Matt visibly tensed, his face moving through a series of complicated expressions. The struggle between fight or flight was causing some of them, Foggy suspected. In Matt, that amounted to a struggle between fight or stony repression. It was impossible to predict which would win. Matt was highly skilled in both debate and denial.

Foggy waited.

It worked.

‘Alright! I’m sad, Foggy! Of course I am. Elektra… she’s… she’s like no one I’ve ever known. Being with her was like waking up from some tepid dream. She made anything possible. But I couldn’t… I don’t… you know what? It doesn’t matter, because it’s over and she’s gone! So, yeah, I’m sad! Are we done?’

Aaannd Foggy didn’t have quite as much of a grip on multi-tasking his emotions as he’d believed. Yep, despite knowing Matt was in pain, all the compassion drained away, and something cold stabbed right into the pettier corners of Foggy’s mostly generous heart.

‘Of course she made you feel all those things, Matt! Anything _is_ possible when you’re rich and beautiful! No restrictions, no consequences! How nice for her. But maybe part of that feeling of freedom was because you were pretty much ignoring your responsibilities here!’

Ugh! Foggy forced himself to stop talking and take a moment to breathe, because that wasn’t where he wanted this conversation to go. Because he really was concerned for Matt.

‘And, hey,’ he said, ‘maybe that was something you needed. You work really hard, man – maybe too hard. It makes sense that you’d get caught up in someone who could help you shake off some of the pressure.’

The change in tone didn’t seem to touch Matt, who, even in his half-slumped position, looked tensed to strike.

‘She isn’t just hot and rich, Foggy. That’s rather objectifying, don’t you think? And it wasn’t because I needed a break. Elektra… she knew me like no one ever has. I could be myself. More than that, she helped me to _know_ who I am. She understood me, or at least I thought she did. And now she’s gone. So, like I said, I’m sad. And I’m going back to sleep. You should go to class.’

Matt twisted himself awkwardly towards the wall. Foggy had rarely seen him use such an intentional ‘sighted’ cue. Matt was far from unaware of body language, but he didn’t often rely on bold gestures to get his message across. So, hey, apparently verbal evisceration wasn’t enough to let Foggy know just how unwelcome he was.

He stood up. He wasn’t ready for class, hadn’t showered or gathered his things, but he still found himself heading for the door. He only hesitated when he realised he was wearing his Velma Dinkley pyjamas. They’d been his favourites even before he’d started at Columbia—a birthday gift his mom had ordered from a friend on Etsy—but he was aware that the super-smart-but-can’t-see-for-shit thing could be seen as some kind of sly jab at Matt. He’d told Matt about them, actually, and they’d spent way too long making ridiculous comparisons between Matt and Velma. Matt had gone around for days saying _jinkies_ at the most inappropriate times, just to make Foggy laugh.

But Foggy was probably crediting the general dorm population with too much awareness or interest or whatever. He stood facing the door, floundering, then made himself pause to pull on his robe. His hands were shaking.

He just wanted to go, but there was that infuriating part of him that always needed to have the last word. ‘You’re really something, you know, Murdock,’ he said. ‘But you’re right. Elektra’s not an object, and I’m sure she’s more than just hot and rich. I wouldn’t know, though. It’s not like you’ve ever told me about her. I guess you save that for people who really _know you_. So, I’ll just… I’ll go.’ Foggy grabbed his shower kit and towel. ‘I’ll be back later, I guess. Because it’s my room too, so, you know, it’s not like I’ve got a choice.’

‘No. Foggy, wait,’ Matt said. And, hey! Looked like he was actually willing to acknowledge Foggy’s existence.

Foggy paused at the door. ‘You better be planning to follow that up with something good, Matt, ‘cause, at the moment, I’m imagining something like: _I’m so sorry I just fucked up the sweet pseudo-friendship of convenience I had going with my chump of a roommate_.’

There was no immediate response and, this time, Foggy was in no mood to wait.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I thought so.’

He walked to the bathroom in a haze, then stood under the shower for what turned out to be a spectacularly inconsiderate length of time, given the shared facilities. It wasn’t till he was drying off that he realised he hadn’t remembered to wash. Also, that he had nothing to dress in other than last night’s briefs and pyjamas. Awesome.

Once he was finished in the bathroom, Foggy wandered the common areas of the dorm for a while. It wasn’t a good plan. Too many people were taking his robe-and-slippers look as a sign that he had time to sympathise with their impossible study loads and personal dramas. Usually, Foggy would be happy to do that. Today: not so much. Eventually, he found sanctuary in the deserted laundry room. It was kind of hypnotic, actually, watching the bank of driers tumble things over and over and over.

Nothing was going to change while he stood there, though. At the very least, he needed to ditch his towel and toiletries and put on some real clothes.

Enough acting like an exile.

Foggy was expecting to find the now-familiar blanket lump when he returned to their room. Instead, Matt was perched on the edge of his desk, hands gripping the sides, and legs swinging. ‘You matter to me,’ he blurted out, like he’d been waiting to say it.

As far as opening statements were concerned, it wasn’t great. It was vague enough to be subject to a broad range of interpretations, not all of which were helpful to Matt’s case, while also avoiding the central issue of contention vis-à-vis Foggy’s apparent delusion that in the preceding handful of months he’d been getting to know Matt Murdock.

Foggy stood just inside the closed door. He wasn’t sure he wanted to move further into the room. Matt seemed to take the ongoing silence as disbelief, which, yeah, it pretty much was.

‘You do, Foggy. Of course you matter. I can’t imagine being here without you. You’re smart, funny, friendly… and you take a genuine interest in the people around you. You’re a good person. I wasn’t trying to hurt you or devalue what we have. We’re just… different, that’s all.’

‘Yeah. I got that. I’m part of the tepid nightmare you were saved from. And a super-rich Greek socialite is what? Your gender-bent mirror self?’

‘Foggy, can you just listen?’

‘Alright. I’m sorry. But help me understand this! For months now we’ve studied together, gotten drunk together, ploughed our way through exam-prep together. We must have spent hundreds of hours talking about pop culture, politics, justice, ethics. I thought nothing was off the table between us.’

Matt rubbed a hand over the frankly ridiculous hair on his face, and grimaced. Foggy wasn’t sure if it was the tactile sensation or the conversation that had caused him to do so. ‘Maybe I should have said it differently. It’s just… think of it as a Venn diagram,’ Matt said. ‘The things that you and I have in common, the places where we align, are important. Of course they are. It’s just… they’re a specific area of overlap and I was talking about the bigger picture, that’s all. That’s true with most people. Pretty much everyone, actually. That’s not an insult, Foggy.’

‘You suck at this, Murdock. Is that really the best you’ve got? That I fall within the bell curve?’

Matt sighed, and it grated on Foggy’s nerves.

‘I’m trying to tell you that I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m trying to make things better. I’ve already lost Elektra. I-’

‘And if you can’t have her, you’ll make do with our small-but-nonzero overlap. Jeez, Matt, what am I not seeing here? I mean, sure, there are things you’ve been through that I can’t imagine, and I absolutely don’t know what it’s like to be blind, I get that – but as far as I’m aware, Elektra doesn’t have any more insight into any of that than I do. And this is law school. No one makes it on this path without it becoming a big part of who they are. Think about it! We take pretty much every class together. But now after, what, two months at most, you’re telling me that she understands you and I don’t!’

‘Don’t tell me what I feel,’ Matt said, and Foggy was pissed at how stern and in control he sounded. ‘It’s complicated, and it’s also none of your business.’

‘I just want to know who _he_ is – this Matt who Elektra knows! Clearly that’s not possible, though, because it’s just some fated cosmic truth that _she_ understands you and _I_ don’t! You act like letting people in doesn’t involve a conscious choice or effort!’

Foggy knew he was getting too loud, knew that he was sounding desperate, and he struggled to get a hold of his emotions. He could see Matt’s hands clamped tightly over the edge of the desk. Matt’s legs had stopped swinging and he looked horribly contained. The worst bit was that Foggy didn’t really know where his own words were coming from. He wasn’t like this, or at least he’d never been this way before.

‘Look, I… I can hear how messed up I sound,’ he said. ‘I can. I just… I don’t know what to do with how I’m feeling right now. I’m sorry.’

‘Foggy, I know you’re upset. I know the last few days have been hard for you but, honestly, what I’m going through isn’t about you. I have a lot of things I need to work out for myself right now. Things to do with Elektra, and other things as well.’ Matt rubbed his face again. He sounded tired, which was crazy given how much time he’d spent in bed. ‘I think it would be best if we just gave each other some space,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. I know that’s not easy in such close quarters.’

Foggy probably nodded, but he wasn’t really paying attention to what he was doing. He changed his clothes and gathered some books, then went to the cafeteria for an early lunch. After that, he killed time in the library till his afternoon class. Matt didn’t show, but that wasn’t Foggy’s problem, he supposed.

 


	2. Leaning In, Looking Out

The new arrangement worked. Cutting a tomato with a butterknife also worked, technically, but Foggy only occasionally thought it an apt comparison.

Matt spent insane hours at the library—Foggy, less so—but when they both ended up in their room, it was manageable. They carried enough careful conversation between them to avoid any cold-war vibe, but not enough to suggest they were wandering back towards easy friendship territory: _do you recall if Johnson v Browne dealt directly with negligent false imprisonment_ had the right degree of civility. _Oh, wow. Can you believe what Justice Bane said about the relevance of intent in matters of child battery?_ did not.

So, yep, things were peachy. Or they would be. Eventually.

Also, Foggy was going to the student support centre for counselling, so that was a thing. Not that it was the first time. He’d seen a very nice woman, Deepa, every now and then during his inevitably turbulent high school years. He’d been a chubby, geeky, theatre club and dance loving, not straight, not-quite-like-the-other-boys kind of teenager. Astonishingly, there’d been some bullying. At that age there’d been deeper issues as well – anything to do with his biological mother, Rosalind, for a start. So, his time with Deepa had been good, particularly her insistence upon unapologetic self-acceptance. That was a goal, not a place where Foggy had put down roots, but he was working on it.

And now there was Siobhan. She had a voice that suggested cigarettes and whisky were an everyday part of life, and the long leather jacket that sometimes hung on the back of her door was more Matrix than Foggy would ever be able to pull off. It had taken him less than five minutes to decide he liked her. And, hey, that was great, ‘cause it was confronting as hell talking about the crazy jealousy-monster he became when he thought of Matt having other people he felt closer to.

Because, yeah, alright, Foggy had a background, manageable crush on the guy. That wasn’t exactly an unfamiliar experience. Foggy crushed easily and often. He was a people person, so it was something he just rolled with. Sometimes those crushes led to something more, sometimes not. Given that he and Matt were roommates, Foggy had decided early on that _not_ was the better option where Matt was concerned. And, yep, it hurt to find out that Matt didn’t value their friendship as highly as Foggy did. Again, though: not entirely new. Foggy was quick to let people in and didn’t see the point in holding back.

The grabby tantrum he’d presented Matt with, though: that was new. Foggy had been far more mature when Deb broke up with him, and they’d been almost inseparable for more than a year. Recently, Mature-Foggy seemed to have ducked out for coffee, though, and the bit that had been left in charge just wanted to sit Matt down and _make_ him understand that their friendship was Deep and Real; make him realise that what he’d felt with Elektra was nothing more than the high of new romance and the happy-hormone-cocktail of regular sex. And, hoo-boy! That, right there, was Foggy’s own personal path to the crazy-stalker land of Lock-Matt-in-a-Room-Until-He-Realises-He-Loves-Me-Best.

Fortunately, Siobhan had a take-no-prisoners approach. The woman could shut down misdirection like it was her job… which it kind of was, so hey, that was cool! She probably wouldn’t have been the right person for teenaged Foggy, but this time around he was enjoying having someone who pushed him to lean in and work on his stuff. It was exhausting and left him feeling raw and exposed, but it felt good too.

And as a result of his efforts, Foggy had some new truths he was embracing.

  * Whatever Matt feels is what Matt feels, and whatever is true for Matt is true for Matt.
  * Matt says he values our friendship, and his actions have generally supported this claim. That doesn’t mean he should experience or express friendship in the same ways I do.
  * Nothing is different between us except that I now have a more realistic picture of Matt’s boundaries and my current place in his life. That’s a good thing.
  * Relationships grow and evolve, but they should be allowed to do so without expectations or pressure.
  * Having a close friend is great, but no external relationship should be a major source of my self-worth.



It was a work in progress. It was also humbling, because every time Foggy looked at The List he was a little bit stunned that he’d needed things spelled out like that. But it was fine. He’d been reliably informed that feeling vulnerable, at times, in relationships was perfectly normal. The goal was to accept, and even maybe express, that vulnerability without needing the other person to fix it. That was a definite thing Foggy could work towards. Siobhan was a goddess. 

0  0  0

Term pushed on. Foggy could see that Matt was working hard to make up for his earlier sub-par effort in all things academic. He was meditating more often as well – even while Foggy was in the room, which had been odd at first. He also spent a lot more time doing the Matt-equivalent of staring into space. Amazing how much time there was for things like that without the constant banter between them.

Matt unfolded himself from the floor and began gathering his stuff, probably to head to the library. Foggy watched him. By now, the routine of it was so familiar that it almost felt comfortable, and Foggy found himself reaching for connection. _Admit it, Murdock_ , he wanted to say, _meditation’s just a fancy name for when you happen to space out with good posture_.

He held back.

Maybe Elektra understood meditation. She looked like the Yoga Retreat type.

Although it was a knee-jerk bit of anti-Elektra snark, it got Foggy thinking. There were lots of things that were part of Matt’s life that Foggy didn’t really understand or relate to.

Matt left the room and the moment passed.

And, yeah, maybe Foggy was procrastinating over the tediously detailed reading he was supposed to be doing on evidentiary procedure, but he opened a new document on his laptop and started making a list.

_Matthew Murdock: Beyond the Murdock-Nelson Overlap_

  * _Lives in a non-visual world (like, his whole perception of reality is structured around input that’s non-visual! Except for all the ways that the rest of us try to make him play by our rules… but even so… I can’t imagine…);_
  * _Lost his sight in one of those split-second, time-and-place events that would definitely screw with notions of free-will and fate, and have me revisiting ‘what if’ scenarios for a seriously long time;_
  * _Orphaned through murder, so, double-whammy right there;_
  * _Has no extended family at all (which I actually cannot imagine);_
  * _Religion (has some level of genuine abiding belief/faith);_
  * _Teachings of the Catholic church are probably ingrained enough to be the unconscious backdrop to his thoughts (much like The Way of the Nelsons is ingrained in mine, only with more self-flagellation and guilt, and less reverence for a good meal). Another thing I can’t really comprehend;_
  * _Meditation (is that about faith, health, serenity…? Why haven’t I ever asked?);_
  * _Conscious commitment to morality (like, way more than just being a generally good guy);_
  * _Strangely specific food snobbery and general avoidance of delicious pre-packaged snack foods (what does that even say about a person?);_
  * _Physical fitness (And how he keeps so built, I have no idea. Sleepwalks to the campus gym?);_
  * _Giant nerd who genuinely enjoys study (like, it would probably be a hobby if he wasn’t doing it for grades);_
  * _The guy spent his formative years among men who punched each other for a living (…);_
  * _Is fiercely proud of his father’s ability to persistently withstand being punched in the face (… times infinity);_
  * _Has been self-sufficient and self-contained for so long that he maybe doesn’t remember being an actual child (it NEVER feels like this whole adult thing is new to him. ~~I must seem like such a coddled child.~~ Struck from the record: this isn’t about me);_
  * _Has lived among nuns for long enough that he thinks of them as people and not the vaguely terrifying enigmas they truly are (which possibly explains his superpower of fearlessness in relating to professors! I’m on to you, Murdock!);_
  * _Strict adherence to routine is like his default setting. He doesn’t seem to have any resistance to doing what needs to be done. The guy NEVER procrastinates (a consequence of institutional life at the orphanage? A necessary adaptation for success in a sighted world? Proof of alien life on Earth?);_
  * _Consistently male self-concept (Yep. That’s a thing Matt definitely has. Non-overlappy. SO non-overlappy);_
  * _Heterosexuality (Conjecture, but the assumption stands unless further evidence comes to light – not that it’s cool to go around slapping labels on people, but it IS pertinent to the bigger picture of non-overlappishness);_
  * _And because it’s my list, so why the hell not… Matthew Murdock has, at the heart of his non-overlappy self, a tragic lack of genuine appreciation for my genius in transmuting words into every part of speech imaginable. I mean, come on! ‘Overlappishness’? Join me in my totally legitimate respect for linguistic gymnastics, man! Let the words change and grow!_



Foggy pulled his hands away from the keyboard and tucked them under his thighs. It was a practiced response to the realisation that he was getting carried away with some wildly self-indulgent auto-banterism – a term he’d coined in playful solidarity with the awkwardly inadequate _auto-eroticism_. Auto-banterism was the act of letting his fingers fly across the keyboard, filling the screen with impulsive ramblings that escalated to higher and higher heights of absurdity, entirely at the whim of his own satisfaction. A verbal wank, so to speak. If sitting on his hands didn’t derail the impulse, Foggy usually made himself get up and move around the room – a small act of self-discipline that had saved _so many_ of his term papers from going off the rails.

This was one of those times.

When he returned to his desk he scrolled through the list he’d made. Even disregarding the last item, it was rather long. So. Quite a few things, then, that supported Matt’s claim that the similarities between them were far fewer than the differences. And, honestly, most of the things on the list were a lot more relevant to feeling understood than, say, choosing law as a career, or sharing classes and study loads, or having grown up in Hell’s Kitchen. And these were just the differences Foggy knew about. Matt would, no doubt, add others.

In a moment of backslide, Foggy questioned how many of the items Elektra would share or understand – but, nope! _Not the point_ , he told himself. _Not going there_. What Matt feels is what Matt feels. What’s true for him is true for him. The Matt/Elektra Venn diagram wasn’t Foggy’s to create or analyse.

Yep. Siobhan: a literal goddess.

And now that Foggy was looking at his relationship with Matt through the lens of this totally warm and fuzzy model, he couldn’t deny that some of the most significant and under-acknowledged parts of himself fell outside The Overlap as well.

Whether it was a result of social convention or his own extroverted need for human contact, Foggy was a pro at focussing on the similarities that brought people together. Pushing huge chunks of himself down in favour of connection had apparently been a small-print part of the social contract that he’d signed up for without considering the cost.

But.

But.

If he found someone who instinctively understood those parts, who helped him understand himself better, as well… then, yeah… tepid might be the word to describe everything that had come before.

It was a seductive fantasy, Finding that Ideal Someone, but Foggy only let himself dwell on it for a little while. A relationship, no matter how awesome, should never be a major source of self-worth. He literally had it written on a very short list of truths he was trying to accept and integrate. Not that an awesome relationship would be a bad thing, of course, but the less-fun, more grown-up truth was that Foggy needed to be there for himself – particularly for the bits that were drowning in his Common-Ground approach to human connection. If he could do that, then it would still suck if some hella-fabulous fantasy partner took off into the night, but at least he wouldn’t feel like he’d been dumped back into bathwater that had already been used too many times. That was something worth working for.

0  0  0

Foggy was in a good mood as he cut his way across campus. The sky was blue, the temperature had hit fifty, and his session with Siobhan had been good. Better than good. Exciting, maybe? Hopeful? Relieving? Whatever. The best thing: the last couple of session hadn’t been about his relationship with Matt. That felt like an achievement. Foggy’s biggest issues were now about himself and how he wanted to move forward in his life. The work was still challenging in that great way Siobhan had of keeping things gritty and real, but it also felt like some weird kind of indulgence. Maybe like a trip to the chiropractor – full of unnerving jabs and clunks, but then everything dropping into place… or maybe that was just how the terrifying art of chiropractics was portrayed on television? He really had no idea.

What he did know for sure was that recess was only days away! And, sure, Foggy would be studying his way through most of it, so, not much difference, really – but he’d be at home, in the midst of familiar comforts. So many things had been simpler when he was living at home and commuting for undergrad. Not that he’d change anything now. Even with things being a little strained between himself and Matt, Foggy was still really glad they’d been thrown together the way they were. But maybe the time apart could be a bit of a soft reset for their friendship. That would be nice. And since recess time was made of elastic and illusion, Foggy had other plans as well. It was going to be awesome.

So! A good day! The kind that invited an enthusiastic, haphazard, slightly off-key rendition of _The Pirate King_. Foggy veered towards the eastern stairwell to the dorm, because the acoustics there were awesome. Not quite as good as the second shower from the left in their shared bathroom—that sweet spot could work magic on anyone’s voice—but the stairwell was more than decent.

He was mid-verse and high gusto as he stepped out of the sunshine and into the concrete chamber. The door clanged dramatically behind him, echoing with a resonance entirely appropriate for the assertion of piratical supremacy.

Foggy turned towards the first flight of stairs and noticed Irina. She was half way up, looking back over her shoulder. They’d shared a study group since a few weeks into first term, and Foggy thought she was great: smart, dedicated, a little serious but not aloof.

‘Irina! Sing with me!’ he called.

She waited while he caught up, smiling and shaking her head.

‘I will be your audience,’ she said.

‘Noooo,’ Foggy wailed. ‘Listen. It’s easy: _Oh, better far to live and die, under the brave black flag I fly, than play a sanctimonious part, with a pirate head and a pirate heart!_ ’ He made sure to warble the crescendo with comic intensity and full theatrical stance.

Irina clapped and smiled. ‘Marvellous,’ she said. ‘I had not known you were hiding such talents.’

‘See, I think you’re mocking me but I’m going to take the compliment anyway,’ Foggy replied.

‘Only a little mocking,’ she said, and smiled so kindly that there was no discomfort in the confession. ‘Also, you do not seem the type to be a pirate. You are too good hearted. Pirates do very bad things.’

That made Foggy stall in his banter. ‘Of course. You’re right,’ he said. ‘Theatre’s full of charismatic villains who seduce us into ignoring reality. I suppose it’s part of the escapist magic.’

‘The loveable scoundrel makes us forget that there is a cost to be borne when someone is truly a scoundrel. In this way we create a culture where the victim is not then well received if they complain.’

‘Yeah, I can see how that could happen,’ Foggy said. ‘I suppose even illusion has its consequences.’ He wondered how someone like Irina came to be dating Sean. She’d brought Sean into their study group soon after they’d begun, and Foggy had tried to like him. The problem was, Sean was entitled, immature, and also an ass. On the plus side he was unlikely to make a passing grade, from what Foggy had observed. He hoped Irina would end the relationship if Sean failed out of the course.

They started to climb the stairs, and the conversation turned to reflections on the legal process as a form of theatre. Foggy wasn’t sure he could ever get comfortable with presenting some criminal as a lovable rogue. Irina was quite certain she never would. By the time they reached Foggy’s floor they’d fallen into quiet contemplation of their chosen career. They stopped on the landing to cheer each other up with examples of good legal practice and reassuringly sane judicial decision making. After a while, Foggy waved Irina off and she continued up towards her room.

Once she was gone, he stood for a moment, sorting through his emotions. His birth mother, Rosalind, was the kind of lawyer who made Foggy want to stay far away from the legal system. Her hard-line, self-serving personality had almost driven him away from pursuing law when it had first shown up on his career aptitude tests. Then he’d realised that there were heartless doctors, harsh and critical teachers, uncaring politicians, hell, even drug-addicted pilots – the point was, any profession he chose would have the full spectrum of skilled, ethical practitioners through to self-serving or incompetent nightmares. Also—though it pained him to admit it—no one was ever just one thing. People were complex and could change and grow. Even unlovable rogues. Even villains. And at least he knew he’d have good people like Irina and Matt entering the profession by his side. As Foggy headed to his room, the earlier radiance of the day’s sunshine reawakened beneath the heavier warmth of the comfortably heated air.

Matt was working at his desk when Foggy got through the door.  He’d been studying in their room more often lately. It wasn’t like old times, but it was something.

‘There are things about me that I don’t share with you,’ Foggy announced, which was definitely weirder than saying hello, but what the hell: impulsive behaviour wasn’t inherently flawed.

Matt turned from his laptop and pulled out his earbud. He looked a little lost.

‘I’m not going to dive into deep revelations,’ Foggy continued, ‘because I don’t want it to feel like I’m giving away truths to create an obligation or anything. Besides, there are some things I’m not ready to talk about. I just want to acknowledge that there are important areas where we don’t overlap. You were right,’ he said, and it didn’t feel nearly as painful as it would have several weeks ago. ‘The thing is, I have this habit of focusing on the common ground. It makes me kind of blind to the bits outside the overlap.’ Matt didn’t make one of his tragic blind jokes, but he was listening and doing eyebrow calisthenics, which was something Foggy hadn’t seen in a while. It was ridiculously endearing. ‘Being an extrovert, man! You have no idea! It’s like this maddening compulsion to glom onto the energy sockets of human connection.’ Matt gave a small huff of laughter, but Foggy still recoiled a little at having overstepped the careful boundaries they’d been living by. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘I realise that my reaction to your perspective on our relationship was spectacularly unhealthy and, frankly, embarrassing. Obviously, I haven’t put my insecurity issues as far in the past as I thought I had, but I’m working on it. Like, actually really working on it. So! One more thing and then I’ll stop talking, because this is beginning to feel uncomfortable even by my lax standards. But, well, I just… I hope you’re doing alright with… with the fallout, I guess, of everything that happened with Elektra. I know it can’t be easy for you right now and I’m sorry for my part in adding to that.’

Foggy busied himself with taking off his outer layers. It was the most he’d spoken to Matt since all this began, and he felt vulnerable – which was strange, given how much they’d shared in the past. Matt sat at his desk looking lost in thought, then gave that quiet half-smile that was ludicrously sweet.

‘Thanks, Foggy,’ he said, and the sincerity left Foggy feeling like maybe they were going to be alright, after all.

 


	3. Wherever meaning lies

It was strange to feel awkward walking beside Foggy. They were heading back to their room after class, and Matt knew it was a positive step that they were no longer walking separately in the same direction – even if the deliberate distance had, with hindsight, been less confronting.

Matt had lived most of his life with virtual strangers and temporary friends. He knew how to make space for himself when he needed it. He also knew how to maintain the polite fiction of privacy when others required it. Foggy, on the other hand, sometimes seemed to have missed any introduction to the notion of personal boundaries.

When things had blown up between them, Matt had been distantly annoyed. It had felt like one more thing to deal with, when everything was already too much. Recently, though, Matt had found himself wanting to return to easier times. It would be a pleasant change from pining over Elektra.

The pining, he’d decided, had to stop.

When Foggy had returned from recess, Matt had done his best to signal that he was ready to be less remote. They’d talked about a few of the readings they’d done over the break. Foggy had shared some anecdotes that, above all, showed how much he missed his family now that he was living away from home. Matt couldn’t say much about how he’d spent his time, but that was nothing new. He’d mentioned going to the library—an attempt at reciprocity—and Foggy’d called him a nerd. It had sounded tentative, so Matt had forced a smile. It was a true enough assessment, though incomplete, and it was only a small part of the price Matt paid for the lies he told. He wouldn’t let himself be bitter. Elektra was gone, but he’d survived just fine before he’d met her. He didn’t need anyone to know more about him than they expected to see.

Elektra was gone but Foggy was back, and the last few days had been cautiously good.

Today, though, Foggy was tense. His breathing was tight and shallow. Everything about the way he moved lacked its usual soft sweep. Even his stride was short and sharp. The silence as they walked, though, felt more focused than hostile, an intensity that persisted all the way to their room.

Matt was taking off his coat when he heard Foggy shut the door behind them and collapse his weight against it. There was a heavy thump as Foggy’s bag dropped on the worn carpet, followed by the sound of several deep breaths.

‘Everything alright?’ Matt asked. The question felt a little out of place – the presumption of something not quite re-established.

‘Yep! Peachy.’

Matt took his laptop out of his bag and straightened his desk while he waited to see if Foggy would continue.

‘Did you, ah, did you hear anything about, well, about… me? You know… while we were out there?’ Foggy asked, then laughed nervously. ‘Wow! That sounds conceited!’ He flopped heavily on his bed but then shuffled restlessly until he was sitting on the edge, one foot tapping against the floor.

‘Yeah. I heard some things,’ Matt said. He turned towards Foggy, hoping to make it clear that he was willing to talk about it. ‘Someone who smelled like jasmine said you look pretty. For some reason, based on the same information, other people concluded that you must be gay.’

‘How have we not progressed beyond the idea that a person can _look_ gay? Just because people are more likely to risk disregarding gender-normative appearance standards once they’ve had to construct their own place outside the presumption of heteronormative sexuality, doesn’t make it a causal connection or an adequate assessment tool! Man, I wish that sentence would fit on a t-shirt!’ The tone was almost playfully exasperated, but it was followed by Foggy taking a few heavy breaths in and out through his nose. ‘Anyway, I’m bi, actually. Or, well, pan really, but almost no one seems to get that. I’m… I’m not going to ask you if it’s a problem for you. It’s not my problem if other people are uncomfortable with who I am. Not that… not that I think you’re gonna be a jerk about it. I just-’

‘Foggy, it’s alright,’ Matt cut in.

‘I’m not asking your permission!’

‘Sorry, no, I didn’t mean it that way,’ Matt said. ‘It’s just… you sound uptight. I thought it might help if you knew that I already suspected you were bi, pretty much from the day I met you. I’m not sure what pan is, but, look, I know what it’s like when people think you’ll be grateful for their acceptance, and I’m really not trying to be like that. You don’t need my acceptance: I get it. But sometimes it helps if you know that the people around you aren’t just being polite or accommodating. And I want you to know this: people assume because I’m Catholic that I’m probably homophobic. I’m not. But then, they also assume that sex without sight must be clumsy and eternally missionary, so what the fuck do they know?’

Matt didn’t always find it easy to joke about the more offensive beliefs he’d encountered when it came to sexuality and blindness. The comment made Foggy laugh, though, and that had been his goal.

‘You don’t know what pan is? Good grief, Murdock, did you grow up among nuns or something? No, wait, you can’t have, otherwise you’d have appropriate respect for the efficacy of the missionary position. So! No excuse, buddy. Pansexual. It means I don’t see the point in limiting my amorous inclinations based on genitalia, gender, or even the requirement to belong somewhere within a gender binary. It would be a bit hypocritical if I did.’

Matt had been surrounded by the sharp smell of stress since they’d come into the enclosed space of their room, but now everything about Foggy was broadcasting a spike in anxiety. Matt perched his weight on the edge of his desk and hoped he looked reassuring and thoughtful, instead of lost.

‘And I still don’t need your approval, Murdock,’ Foggy added. ‘But while we’re doing this thing, and since you can’t see what it was that got a stupid number of people gossiping today, I’ll fill you in. So. First thing: I shaved. Yep, the luxuriant chin rug is gone. Did you know about the chin rug? I can’t remember if I ever mentioned it. Anyway, it’s no longer a thing, so no point dwelling on it. Also, I had some fun styling my hair this morning. It’s kind of ringlety at the sides – if you’ll tolerate me making an adjective out of a perfectly good noun. The curls make it a bit shorter, but also softer looking and less stringy. Fine hair, man! I swear it’s a curse only blonds fully understand. Without serious intervention these luscious locks have no body whatsoever. Not something you would relate to, Mr Thick Floopy Hair. Anyway, then there’s the shirt I’m wearing, which could more accurately be called a blouse – mostly because the buttons and buttonholes have switched sides, which is hella bizarre when you think about it, that that’s even a thing. But its collar also has rounded ends instead of points, and the sleeves probably gather a bit more at the shoulders and wrists than a shirt would. It cuts off at waist length, so it doesn’t tuck in. It’s pale blue, which is a great colour with my complexion but also delivers a subtle poke to the arbitrary and facile nature of the many, many, socially constructed markers of gender throughout time – even if I’m the only one who gets it. The long vest I’m wearing is a darker blue, and also has the same scandalously placed buttons. So, there you have it. You now know what it takes to drive otherwise intelligent students to risk whispering in Bernstein’s class.’

Matt wasn’t sure what to say, mostly because he didn’t know exactly how to receive the information he’d been given. Foggy was a born communicator, even when he was worked up, and he clearly wasn’t saying the choice of clothing was because he identified as female. Matt knew that sex and gender were two different things, of course, and that they didn’t always align. He’d shared a couple classes in undergrad with a woman who was transgendered, but this wasn’t the same. At least, it didn’t sound like it was. Was Foggy saying that gender, itself, was optional? That seemed like a thought experiment rather than a real possibility. Unlike the bi… pansexuality, Matt hadn’t seen this coming. He tried to look open and accepting, which only made him feel self-conscious about whatever look was on his face, and how he was holding his body.

‘I’m not sure what-’ he started.

‘Relax, Murdock,’ Foggy interrupted. ‘I’ve just decided to take your earlier application of representational delineation to heart. You know the one – Forest Gump meets Math Nerd: _Life is like a Venn diagram_. I’m claiming my place outside a huge collective overlap that’s filled with people who have a consistently singular self-concept of gender. Or, I don’t know, maybe I’m jumping into the overlap that most people deny when they pretend male and female are two absolute and separate things. It’s your construct, man! It’s not my fault if it’s wishy-washy. But, hey, actually, I’m all for embracing things that can go either way. Or any number of ways, really.’

Matt chose to overlook the fact that his own use of the Venn diagram analogy had been met with anger and scorn. Foggy’s current shifts between assertive and insecure were unnerving, and some of what he’d said had sounded rehearsed. Matt didn’t want his own reactions and confusion to add to Foggy’s anxiety.

He decided to aim for neutral ground.

‘I didn’t know that was a difference between shirts and blouses,’ he said. ‘The thing with the buttons. Also, I’m wishing I’d copyrighted my construct. If I’d known you were going to make it into a tool for the revolution, I’d have definitely taken action to establish intellectual property rights.’

‘You should maybe check, first, if there’s a family of Venns somewhere who’ll sue you for stealing great-grandad’s work. Also, I don’t think I said anything about a revolution, Murdock.’

‘Sure you did. The fact that Columbia prides itself on being inclusive doesn’t mean every student and every academic has an open mind. Ergo, ringlets, blouses, vests, and even instruments of logic become tools of the revolution.’

Foggy let out a gusty breath. ‘More than I’d thought they’d be,’ he said. There was another, shakier breath in and out, followed by a sniff. The air was pungent with the acrid heat of distress.

‘It’s alright, Fogs,’ Matt said. ‘You can do this.’

‘Thanks,’ Foggy said. He sounded despondent.

There wasn’t much else Matt could offer. He was out of his depth in the specifics of the situation, but he had no doubt about Foggy’s resilience.

Foggy sighed and rubbed his face. ‘Actually, you know what? Thanks, Matt. Really. I know you deal with shit like this all the time. I just… I thought I knew what it would be like, getting a few odd looks or whatever – it’s not like I had an easy time at high school. And this is New York, you know? We have a centre for gender and sexuality law right here on campus. Today wasn’t supposed to be a big deal but, honestly, it was way harder than I’d expected. It was exhausting.’

Foggy wasn’t usually so direct in expressing genuine discomfort. It was far more common for his banter to become increasingly off-kilter when he was upset.

The silence stretched, and Foggy didn’t fill it.

Matt didn’t have a lot of experience with hugging, outside of sexual relationships, but he knew Foggy was big on physical contact. ‘Would you like a hug?’ he asked. It came out louder than he’d intended. ‘I mean, say no if you want to, I know things have been-’

‘Good lord, Murdock, stop talking and get over here already,’ Foggy said. Despite the words, he sounded more weary than exasperated.

By the time Matt crossed the room, Foggy was standing to meet him. Initiating contact wasn’t as awkward as Matt had expected. In fact, Foggy pretty much collapsed against him, burying his face against Matt’s shoulder. It took Matt a moment to understand what was happening but, after that, he just held on while Foggy cried. Eventually, Foggy mumbled the word tissue, dug through a pocket, then wiped at his face. Once he’d resumed leaning against Matt’s shoulder he added, ‘Happy tears, Murdock. I’ve missed you, buddy.’

Matt had been paying close attention to Foggy’s heart rate and breathing, to the twitching tension in his body, so he knew it wasn’t as simple as that. The tears seemed more like a post-adrenaline crash, and standing this close, holding Foggy through it, felt more real than the minor eddies of conflict and connection they’d been caught up in before. Still, it wouldn’t be true to say he’d missed Foggy in return.

‘So,’ he said, instead. ‘Can l exploit my position and check out this gossip-worthy hair? I’ve felt curls before, but never anything that could be described as ringlets. It’s one of those words I know by definition, but don’t really have a frame of reference for. If I ever saw them when I was younger, I don’t remember.’

‘Wow, Murdock. Such a smooth talker, _and_ willing to exploit any opening. How did you ever think you’d find a place within the noble practice of law? But sure, go ahead. Why should you miss out on all this soft, wavy perfection?’ Foggy’s voice still sounded tired but it was less strained. It was deeper than usual, from the tears.

Matt brought one hand to the top of Foggy’s head to orient himself. Once he had a feel for relative position, he traced his fingertips along the gentle twists that hung to the side of Foggy’s face. They weren’t actually soft, but crisp and sweet smelling from the hair product Foggy used. They also weren’t quite the tight corkscrew curves he’d imagined. They felt nice though. Matt ran his fingers over another lock.

‘Thanks,’ he said. He gave Foggy a tight squeeze, and then Foggy took a step back.

‘No problem. You’re one of the good ones, Murdock. So, what do you think of ringlets? Do they live up to their definition?’

‘They’re not quite what I was expecting – less like a corkscrew and more like an overstretched slinky. But I like them. They’re nice.’

‘Well that’s because these here are _relaxed_ ringlets, man. Honestly: that’s how they’re described. And, come on, could I really have anything but relaxed hair? I mean, Marci—you know, Marci Stahl—she sometimes curls her hair, and if I were a braver person I’d describe those ringlets as perky. They’re all bouncy and tight. They’re awesome! But like I said, I’m waaay too laidback for perky hair.’

‘So, if you get to have relaxed hair, and Marci Stahl gets perky, how come I get floopy? That’s not even a word.’

‘Of course it is. It’s like floppy, but less _couldn’t be bothered_ and more _intentionally laissez-faire_. Don’t worry, you totally make it work. It’s like the cottage garden approach to grooming, instead of going all ornamental lawn about it.’

‘Floopy. It sounds like something from Jabberwocky.’ Matt made sure his disdain for that particular work was entirely obvious.

Foggy flopped down onto his bed with a huff of dramatic flourish. Matt smiled and returned to perching on his desk.

‘No way!’ Foggy insisted. ‘Its literary cred is way better than that. Douglas Adams used it, man! Surely even your prescriptivist grammatical bent can wander off-course long enough to appreciate the genius of Douglas Adams.’

Matt didn’t concede the point, even though it held a shred of truth. ‘How about I get us an early dinner and we spend the evening watching terrible law-based drama?’ he said.

‘I see what you did there with the subject change, but really? An actual night off?’

Matt put on an appalling facsimile of a rebellious tone. ‘Yeah, Nelson. Why? You gonna nark on me if I don’t study?’

‘Absolutely not! That sounds awesome. You’re awesome! I mean, your effort at tough talk was tragic but also entirely unnecessary, so we’re good. You go get food, I’ll cue Netflix!’

‘Deal,’ Matt said. ‘And, Foggy, any time you want to talk about it....’

‘Thanks, man.’

o  o  o

Matt took a slightly longer route to the cafeteria. He didn’t want to keep Foggy waiting, but he needed time to think. He wasn’t sure how he felt about, well, lots of things, really.

He hadn’t missed Foggy, but the truth of that realisation felt heavy. He knew, realistically, that by the end of last term it was amazing he’d managed to keep up with Elektra and still put enough time into his finals. The new term had started out the same, and then Elektra was gone, and Matt was left with no room for anything but the fallout. As much as it felt pathetic to admit, even to himself, he was still licking his wounds a little.

He’d learned early, though, that life never stayed still, no matter the crisis. In that sense, the last hour had felt like it was dragging him onwards. That was a good thing. Even so, Matt wasn’t sure what to make of some of the new information he’d been given.

The probability that Foggy wasn’t heterosexual had been obvious from the moment they’d met. It was an established part of Matt’s sense of Foggy, despite the fact that the subject had never come up. It had never been an issue. Matt understood that no one chose their sexuality.

He also understood that the experience of transgendered people wasn’t something they chose. It seemed abstractly reasonable, then, to assume that the same could be true for other experiences of gender identity – and yet Matt kept cycling back to the thought that it just didn’t make sense.

Was it possible to have no gender, or was it more like experiencing both genders in a constantly shifting flow? Or was Foggy equating maleness with a particularly macho form of masculinity and then feeling like he lacked a stable gender because he lacked that kind of maleness? But Foggy was a smart guy. There was no way he hadn’t thought the whole thing through from every direction.

So why was the concept so unsettling? Matt had no issue with Foggy’s clothing or his hair. He was actually kind of fascinated by the idea of it. Appearances didn’t mean the same thing to him as they did to sighted people. He dressed to project competence and confidence, and to avoid clichés about blind people and poor fashion choices. Nevertheless, he’d prefer clothing that was designed to meet tactile and functional criteria. It was a nuisance having to accommodate expectations based on visual perception when appearance was rationally the least important aspect of clothing. Foggy’s hair had felt nice, and the blouse was soft and flowing. Matt had no mental process that compared Foggy’s look to that of other men and evaluated its _maleness_ any more than he evaluated a woman’s gender by her choice to wear dresses or jeans.

Obviously, that wasn’t true for some of their classmates, though. One woman had described Foggy as pretty, but not everyone thought so – and it seemed a lot of them had opinions. It had been a long time since Matt had laid to rest his own discomfort at being stared at, but he could imagine how daunting it must have been for Foggy to walk out of their room that morning; how much harder to continue as usual when things became uncomfortable.

Matt arrived at the cafeteria and wandered through in a bit of a daze, allowing the sight of his cane and glasses to clear a path around him. The place wasn’t particularly crowded at this time of day. Even so, the ambient noise was horrible, and he was grateful when he could step back out into the late afternoon air.

He decided, as he headed back with their chicken wraps and juice, that it probably didn’t matter that he didn’t understand. The concept felt alien to him and, yes, even chafed at his sense of reason, but the irritation wasn’t directed at Foggy. It was a result of Matt’s own failure to analyse new information – his inability to move past the fact that it seemed superficially illogical. But Foggy’s determination had been so fundamentally earnest. Their conversation had felt like picking up something familiar, only to find it was heavier, more solid, than Matt had remembered. Maybe it was the weight of Foggy’s conviction, then, that was enough. Whether Matt came to understand or not, he knew he’d offer whatever support he could.

o  o  o

By the time the end of semester drew near, Matt was confident he’d caught up any ground he’d lost in his studies.

He was coming to terms with Elektra’s absence, or the pain had shifted, anyway. He could even admit to himself that their relationship, though exhilarating and intense, maybe hadn’t been the healthiest. Some of the things he’d learned about himself while they were together were going to take some time to understand. It had been uncomfortably easy to let go of everything he’d thought he’d believed in – to not give a damn about transgressions he’d have denied he was capable of just months before. He’d ridden in a stolen car, participated in breaking and entering more than once, had sex in questionable places, and, honestly, it had been a blast.

As for Sweeney, well, Matt had wasted enough hours replaying that encounter in his mind. It never ended any differently than it already had.

There were other things he needed to focus on.

With one week of classes remaining, the ambient hype and anxiety of impending exams was building. Voices around campus were more shrill, or else more boisterous. In the dorm, Matt could hear tearful conversations or quiet crying at almost any time of night, along with the monotonous drone of voices repeating definitions and other rote memorisation tasks under their breath. There was more bickering over noise.

Matt rarely found exams stressful. In fact, he often enjoyed them for what they were: an opportunity to demonstrate that he’d learned the things he needed to know. Perhaps it helped that, for him, exam time didn’t involve sitting in a hall full of sleep deprived, over-caffeinated students. He could imagine, in that setting, the anxiety might be contagious. Not that his disability accommodations were without their own challenges – mostly to do with software glitches or, as happened last semester, a communication error that had led to his exam not being available at the allocated time. He’d opted to surrender his phone and wait around under supervision at the Student Support Centre while the problem was resolved—which took several hours—rather than leave and wait weeks for an alternative exam to be prepared and scheduled. His Disability Support Officer, Kevin, had been new to the role at the time. He was a good guy, but he’d had no direct experience with accommodations for visual impairment. Between them they were hopeful that, this time, they could pre-empt the worst of it.

Matt was on his way back from a planning session with Kevin when he heard Foggy’s name being called, nearby. It sounded like it was coming from out front of the library, so Matt headed in that direction. If he wandered near enough, Foggy would notice him and let Matt know he was there. Matt was experienced in feigning surprise.

‘Foggy! Come on. Please don’t go. They were just playing,’ a female sounding voice said.

Matt was fairly sure it was Jen. He remembered Foggy mentioning a study group session, while they were having breakfast this morning.

‘Yeah, no.’ Foggy’s voice was tight, and higher than usual. ‘Playing is fun. Asking explicit questions about my sex life and making comments about my appearance are not on the list of fun things. The list they _do_ belong to is the kind of thing we’ll get around to covering in class at some point.’

Matt stopped moving. He wanted to walk right over there and ask what was going on. He didn’t want to pretend he hadn’t heard what Foggy had just said, but he also didn’t know if Foggy would want him to know. He moved closer to the side of the building, out of the stream of students, and listened.

‘You’re right,’ the woman, probably Jen, was saying. ‘They shouldn’t have said what they did. They’re trying to work you out, though, you know? We’ve been studying together since almost the start of term one, and suddenly you’re… different. You’re a great guy, Foggy. We just don’t know what’s going on, that’s all.’

‘What do you mean by _going on_ , Jen? Seriously. If _you_ wear a floral print it’s of zero importance, but if _I_ do, something’s _going on_. Can you hear how strange that sounds? It’s just fabric.’ The hurt in Foggy’s voice was clear to Matt, but he wondered if Jen could hear it through the more obvious notes of frustration.

‘We, ah, we were wondering if you’re becoming… is this because you want to be a woman?’

‘No.’ Foggy’s answer was immediate and clear. Matt was surprised to find he’d felt a twinge of curiosity about what Foggy might say. ‘I mean, women are great and all, but no. Not that anyone should have a problem if that _was_ the case. But look, there’s no big mystery here. I searched through my wardrobe this morning and thought: grey shirt or floral? Don’t you do the same?’

‘Well, yes... but all the clothes in my wardrobe are for women.’

‘Hmm. Why though? I mean, why is there even such a thing? Why do we have to divide everything up like that? Because, sure, there needs to be clothing that accommodates the various jiggly bits and dangly bits that different bodies have, but why can’t that be dealt with as an aspect of sizing? It’s so bizarre! I don’t need my clothing labelled men’s, and while we’re at it, I don’t need my body labelled as male either. Human will do just fine.’

Jen laughed. It didn’t sound unkind; maybe a little nervous.

‘Foggy, I like you,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you to go. We worked great together last term. Maybe if we all talk about it upfront? You know the guys get stupid with exam stress.’

‘Uuughh. Stress isn’t an excuse for sexual harassment! You know that, right? I mean, your future career kind of requires that you know that – not to mention just being a properly informed human being. And, also… you know… because you’ll probably experience it more in your lifetime than I ever will. But, look, I’ll give them _one_ chance. They can apologise, and I’ll answer any sincere questions, up to a point. Only for five minutes, though – we’re supposed to be studying. And I’m not taking any shit. If there’s any repeat of the inappropriate behaviour, I’ll consider making a complaint. And you have to have my back, Jen. Come on! Be my co-counsel and I’ll let you borrow this amazing sweater I bought over the break. It’s chocolate brown. It’d look great with red hair.’

Jen’s laugh still didn’t sound fully relaxed, and she paused before answering. Matt wasn’t sure what to expect from her response.

‘Why not? Let’s go unprepared into complex negotiations that have the potential to become hostile and litigious,’ she said. She didn’t use the insouciant tone Foggy would have. She actually sounded a little afraid. Even so, Foggy laughed and they started moving towards the library entrance. Matt walked away as Foggy began trying to put her at ease.

 

By the time Matt got back to their room he was still going over what he’d heard.

He knew that curiosity about other people was generally short-lived. That seemed mostly true with the gossip about Foggy’s appearance, and it was only a particular subset of their classmates who were paying attention, anyway. It wasn’t as though the student population was uniformly straight and conservative.

But it wasn’t the first interaction Matt had overheard where Foggy was openly challenged or criticised. There was also no chance that Foggy was oblivious to every unflattering or hateful thing being said behind his back.

Matt wasn’t sure Jen deserved the generous response she’d been given.

He rubbed at the tension in his forehead and took a few deep breaths. He’d been planning on doing some revision, but maybe meditation was a better choice.

 


	4. Balls in the Air

It was a shame that Foggy’s wardrobe lacked a pair of ruby slippers. They’d be way too after-five for the outfit he was wearing, but he was pretty sure their absence was the only thing holding him back. It couldn’t have been anything else. There was no way he lacked the requisite intensity of desire to transport himself instantly back to the dorm.

Study group had _not_ been fun. The general feeling of being stared at—and of simultaneously wondering if he was being over-sensitive or paranoid—was not fun. Ergo, at a cellular level, his body was certainly composed of a symphonic chant of _there’s no place like home_. Which led to the unhappy conclusion that his generic, size nine runners were not comfortable enough to compensate for their lack of ability to open portals between realms.

Still, in their own pedestrian way, they carried him from the library to the dorm, where he found Matt hard at work. Matt had an earbud in and was typing with the steady rhythm of someone who knew what they were talking about – or at least that was how Foggy thought of it when Matt was doing it. When he did it _himself_ , all bets were off.

Not wanting to interrupt Matt’s flow, Foggy dumped his bag and flopped on his bed for some time out. He figured he could sacrifice half an hour to staring at the ceiling. It was one of those mundane chores that wouldn’t do itself and, anyway, Foggy was well acquainted with the kind of focus it took to get the job done.

He was surprised when, after a couple minutes, Matt spoke. He’d turned from his computer, earbud nowhere in sight.

‘What’s up? You seem tense,’ Matt said.

Huh. Maybe Foggy’d been staring loudly. More likely, he’d been sighing. ‘Yeah,’ he said. He dragged his hands over his face. ‘A little bit.’

‘Bad day?’

‘Nah. I wouldn’t say the whole day was bad: a good day, with occasional sticky bits. But, like, maybe the kind of sticky that it’s best not to think about.’ Foggy considered this for a moment. ‘Like a comfy booth in a cheap diner. That kind of day.’

‘Right… that’s.... Right.’

Matt began to move as though he was going to get back to work, but then glitched and froze half way. It was kind of funny, and then a bit weird, and then, as time stretched on, it was almost worrying. Just as Foggy was about to check if his best bud had turned to stone, Matt shifted back towards him. He looked tense.

‘I was near the library earlier. I… I heard you talking with Jen about someone in your group giving you a hard time. I didn’t realise what you were talking about until I got close enough to hear properly and then I didn’t want to interfere. Sorry.’

‘Wow. How can I have not seen you there? Sorry, man. I must have been totally caught up with Jen. But, hey, no need for the guilt face – public place and all. And like I said, the day had sticky bits. That one was sorted out pretty quickly, actually. While I was out of the room, the rest of them apparently realised that I get the highest grades, which means they definitely need _me_ more than I need _them_. I’m almost certain Chris and Sean had been threatened with exile if they didn’t fix things.’

‘It wasn’t the first time I’ve heard you having to defend yourself lately, and I know you’re not sleeping well. I just…. Foggy, maybe you should…. I mean, you shouldn’t have to accommodate people’s terrible behaviour, obviously, and they definitely should be put on notice for it. You shouldn’t have to educate them. But maybe, just until exams have passed, you could choose the grey shirt instead? Not for their comfort – for yours.’

Foggy sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He didn’t let himself jump to his feet, because it would be weird, pacing in such a small room when he wasn’t alone.

 _Take ten seconds to think_. It was a thing he was working on with Siobhan, because when Foggy felt defensive, his first response was to launch into whatever tangential nonsense popped into his head. That was a reasonable strategy for avoiding direct conflict, but not useful for genuine communication. This was Matt. Foggy could do genuine for Matt.

It was probably more like twenty seconds by the time he was ready to respond.

‘I get that you think this whole thing is making my life harder, especially if you’ve heard some of the more offensive stuff. But, honestly, being harassed by other people for being myself is way easier to deal with than telling myself I can’t let anyone see who I really am. I hadn’t realised how much that would be true, but it is. And sure, the shitty bits are shitty, but every time I handle them I know I haven’t got anything to hide.’ Foggy ignored the impulse to lighten his words with a mock-serious _It Gets Better_ or an absurd comparison to any number of cheesy coming-of-age narratives. Instead, he watched Matt’s intense expression and waited.

It took a while.

‘You’ve got to respect a man for stepping into the ring,’ Matt finally said.

It was not what Foggy had expected. Matt looked so lost in thought, though, that Foggy wouldn’t have made the obvious joke, even if he wasn’t clamping down on self-defensive humour. While he was still examining the statement and its tone, Matt took an unsteady breath.

‘My dad used to say that. He’d, ah, he’d have respected what you’re doing, I think. He wouldn’t have understood, he was kind of traditional, but… he respected straight talk and honest effort. He believed the most important thing was bringing your best to the fight.’

‘Thanks, Matt. That’s… actually really nice to hear.’ More than nice, Foggy thought. Matt didn’t talk about his dad much, but when he did it was obvious he had endless respect for the man.

Matt nodded kind of absently, his thoughts apparently far away.

The silence stretched.

Matt’s expression shifted from _lost in fond memory_ to _waiting for his turn in the dentist’s chair_.

‘All the secrets… the fumbling and groping around… the holding back… he wouldn’t have liked it,’ Matt said. ‘Wouldn’t have done it, himself. He’d’ve just called it like it is. Given it his best. Even after the accident, he never wanted me to be anything less. I just… I never told him… didn’t want to sound insane but that’s _bullshit_. I was afraid.’

Foggy caught himself leaning towards Matt, wanting to make eye contact or offer some gesture of support. ‘It’s alright, buddy,’ he said, then cringed at how hollow it sounded. He had literally no idea what Matt was talking about. Maybe it wasn’t alright, at all. This was why, despite his loquaciousness, physical contact was Foggy’s go-to when things got rough. Matt didn’t look like he’d be receptive though, and he’d already begun taking slow deep breaths.

‘Sorry. I’m fine,’ Matt said, even though it was obvious _fine_ was taking some effort. ‘It’s just… it’s not like I ever forget, but Elektra… she reminded me how much I... Foggy, my dad wouldn’t have wanted me pulling punches, and you seem to _get_ that – to know how to just step up and _be yourself_ , but it’s… it’s not easy. It got him killed, you know? He knew it would, but he did it anyway. He was… he used to get paid to throw fights. He’d be holding his own and then he’d let himself get backed into the ropes. Drop his guard. I didn’t know—not when I was a kid—but then I overheard…. I wanted him to win, wanted him to be every bit as good as I knew he was – and he did it. He stopped holding back, stopped pretending. He wanted me to know better, to _be_ better, but I... I’m not. Not like you. You put yourself out there. You try, and you just _keep trying_ , keep getting up. My dad, he had this deep respect for the men he trained with, for anyone who stepped into the ring. And… he’d respect you. I respect you, Foggy, and… I don’t want to be someone who pulls punches and throws fights… who lies to the people who matter.’

Foggy had been working on not needing validation for his choices, but this was Matt. There was no denying the way Matt’s acknowledgement, scrambled though it was, set off the kind of reaction that drove prickly heat to Foggy’s eyes and hitched his breaths. It took effort not to fixate on the praise, but it wasn’t really at the heart of what Matt was saying. Unfortunately, the main point wasn’t exactly clear.

‘I didn’t know that, about your dad. I thought it was a random attack.’

‘It was covered up.’

‘Oh,’ Foggy said. Matt’s neutral tone was inconsistent with talking about a murdered parent, but he was an expert at opting out of conversations he wasn’t willing to have. Foggy thought back over everything Matt had been saying, looking for clues. He hadn’t gotten far when Matt interrupted his thoughts.

‘Foggy, I lied to him! I’ve lied to you! The… the accident, when I was a kid – it didn’t just damage my eyes. The chemicals affected everything: my hearing, sense of smell, all my senses. Everything.’

‘I’m not quite with you there, buddy… do you mean there was some damage that healed? Because, your hearing seems normal. Really good, actually.’

‘It didn’t make things worse, Foggy. It made my other senses better… stronger.’

‘Alright. But that doesn’t seem like a very big lie, Matt. It’s really more of an omission, for a start.’

Matt swivelled his chair back and forth a few times then stopped, angled towards the door. ‘I wasn’t really standing near you while you were talking to Jen. I was over near the return chutes on the eastern wall of the library,’ he said.

‘That’s.... Wow! And, what? You heard our entire conversation? Clearly?’

‘Yes. I’m sorry.’

‘What? No, man! Sorry? Why? That’s amazing!’

‘Really?’ Matt asked. He sounded more than half sceptical, but Foggy thought there was maybe also a wisp of hope.

‘Of course! Oh my god, Murdock! Tell me more.’

‘My, ah, my proprioception and balance are really good? I don’t know what to say. My sense of taste and smell are as strong as my hearing? Touch, too.’

Foggy took a moment to let that sink in.

‘Ok, not cool,’ he said. ‘That’s actually beginning to sound a little bit hellish. Really? Smell? That would almost never be good. And touch? I mean, the obvious thought is that sex must be just, like, wow… but touch includes pain and temperature, right? I’m pretty sure that’s a thing I learned at some point in my productively spent youth.’

Matt’s began tapping on his leg. ‘It can be… intense, at times, especially if I’m sick or really tired. Mostly, I can control it, though.

‘Control it? Like, dial it down or something?’

‘Not really, no. But I can choose to focus on one thing, or one sense. I mean, everyone does it – block out an irritating sound or sensation, focus on something specific. I just… there’s a lot of input, and I’ve had a lot of practise.’

‘Right. So… what? You could literally hear every conversation in a radius of, say, a hundred feet, and then block out all the ones you’re not focused on? ‘Cause, this time of semester, the library was packed. There must’ve been close to a hundred people milling around out there.’

‘Mostly, I think of it as white noise, but I heard your name and it caught my attention. Your voice is familiar, so it stood out once I was listening for it.’

‘That makes sense. Like, holy shit! But yeah.’

Matt looked relieved, as though he’d expected Foggy to react badly to super powers. He was still tapping his fingers.

‘Thanks for, I don’t know, for understanding? I… I knew someone once who was pretty determined I shouldn’t tell anyone about all this. He was… I think he was right. Or mostly… I don’t know. Everything was so complicated back then. He made some bullshit sacred art out of hidden strengths. I think mostly it was just to… He was probably right, even if it was for the wrong reason. Most people wouldn’t be so calm if they knew.’ Matt laughed a little desperately. ‘I’m pretty sure their reactions would be a little stronger that having _opinions_ on floral prints, or hair styles. Not that... I mean.... With you they feel _unjustly_ entitled to impose their own values. With me, well, they’d be right to be uncomfortable. If I choose to, I can hear what _everyone_ around me is talking about, _all the time_. I can tell, with a reasonable degree of accuracy, whether they’re lying or not. I can sense arousal, sickness, all kinds of hygiene habits, whether a person has recently had sex, whether they’re menstruating, pregnant....’

Matt’s agitation was obvious, but Foggy wasn’t feeling entirely Zen, himself. ‘That’s…,’ he said, and then lost direction. ‘Just… give me a moment to process this, ok?’ He closed his eyes and took some forcefully serene breaths: four, maybe five. Six, at most. ‘So,’ he said, ‘the fact that I can’t help noticing you’re put together alright is _definitely_ not as secret as I’d hoped.’

Yep. _That’s what happens when you ignore the advice of a goddess_ , Foggy thought. He definitely should have counted to ten first. Not because he regretted the confession, per se, but because it was stupidly out of step with Matt’s discomfort at sharing something difficult. Foggy needed a tattoo across the back of his hand. Something like: _Is this really the right time for it?_ The words could trace out a great big question mark, a reminder to stop and think.

Matt’s tapping got faster and was possibly going to leave a bruise. Foggy wanted to reach out and cover his hand.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, instead. ‘Look, you’re presenting a damning case against yourself, but think about it: it’s a pretty complex scenario, man, with no immediately obvious precedents. I’d need to break it down and understand the situation a bit better before I could agree that people are _entitled_ to feel any particular way. Although, honestly, my default position is this: hiding who you are isn’t good for you. Society imposing limitations on people based on who they are: also not good, although obviously there are conditional clauses that come with living as part of the thronging mass of humanity – you know, the whole _freedom curtailed by the obligation to avoid inflicting harm_ ethos. But like I said, I’m not sure I understand exactly what you think is so wrong about you just being who you are. I mean, I sometimes overhear conversations I’m not meant to. Sometimes I do it on purpose. One time, when I was about fifteen, I read Candi’s diary. She must have been all of ten, so it was a bit of a yawn, honestly, but that’s not the point.’

Matt looked overwhelmed.

Probably because Foggy was rambling.

Which he was going to stop.

‘Man, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘My head’s kind of spinning. It’s all good, though, I promise! It’s just that my mouth doesn’t always keep up when my brain goes in too many directions at once. It’s not a quitter though: it just goes all quantum and begins leaping around between seemingly random bits from all over the spectrum, because who needs linearity? But you know what? I do. So! Let’s start at the beginning.’ Foggy cleared his throat theatrically and shifted his posture. It was enough to help him gather his focus. ‘I’d, ah, I’d kind of assumed that hearing is dominant for you in the way that vision is dominant for me, but a lot of the stuff you mentioned comes down to smell, right? Sickness and sex and periods and stuff… so is smell dominant? That would be the worst… but… like a bloodhound or something?’

Matt still looked a bit dazed—and no wonder—but he had that almost-smile that looked like it was just waiting for reassurance that it was welcome. ‘Not, ah, not really. Knowing that stuff… it all uses everything, all at once.’ He sat, fidgeting his fingers for a while, then got up and walked to his wardrobe where he dug around in a drawer. When he turned back, he was holding several pairs of socks. Before Foggy had time to wonder about that, Matt began to juggle. It looked pretty basic from what Foggy could tell, which… wasn’t really the point.

‘Matt?’

‘Have you come across the idea that people can learn to use echolocation?’

Foggy could tell from the look on Matt’s face that if he wasn’t catching and throwing socks, he’d be fidgeting with his sleeve or tapping his fingers. Even so, his movements were steady and smooth. It was mesmerising.

Honestly, Foggy still became goofily impressed, sometimes, when he saw Matt doing routine things without looking, which… duh. This was on another level, though. As he watched, the pattern of movement shifted so that the socks flew in higher or lower arcs. Matt’s fidgety look grew more anxious though, and Foggy pulled his attention back to their conversation.

‘No, I haven’t, but doesn’t echolocation require some kind of high-pitched signal that bounces back?’

‘Not high-pitched, necessarily, and this… this isn’t exactly that, but it’s kind of the same. Sometimes, echolocation is part of it. I use signals other than sight to form an impression of the space and objects around me. Humidity, vibrations, air pressure and displacement, smell, taste, distortions in familiar sounds – I can hear the socks moving through the air, and also the way they disrupt other sounds from around the room. The air displacement tells me about their speed and trajectory. They have a unique smell, but that’s not particularly useful for tracking constant movement at close proximity. And juggling is as much about proprioception as object engagement. If you don’t know exactly what your hands are doing, it doesn’t matter if you can see the ball. Honestly, learning was the only tricky bit. I’m sure anyone who can juggle could do this with their eyes closed.’ Matt started bouncing socks off his knee or elbow while keeping the flow.

It took Foggy a while to respond.

‘Right,’ was all he managed to say. He’d never thought of Matt as clumsy. The guy had poise, and was so precise in his movements, but this was a whole other thing. Foggy was accustomed to a more restrained version of Matt. One who carefully reached out to locate everything from coffee cups to door knobs. _That_ Matt didn’t throw multiple items into the air and know where his hands needed to be to catch them. It was a bit of a shock – totally in a good way, but yeah. Words: not happening.

‘You’re quiet,’ Matt said. He caught the socks and turned to put them away.

‘How…?’ Foggy said. He had no idea where he was going with that line of questioning, though. He sat on his bed, speechless and grinning. Matt was… wow. Wow. Foggy’s poor, crushy little heart was doing a devotional samba, because Matt had super powers, but was still the same awkward duck.

Feeling stupidly giddy, Foggy picked up his pillow and lobbed it across the room. Matt, who had just turned back towards him, snatched it out of the air and then froze. He looked a little bit stunned. It was probably wrong for Foggy to laugh, but once the strangled beginnings broke free, he was unable to stop. He felt less like a jerk once Matt caved to the same hysteria. They laughed for longer than was reasonable, but the tone gradually shifted from an outburst of overloaded tension into something more genuine.

‘I have _so many_ questions,’ Foggy said. ‘So many. And that’s without really thinking about it. Actually, can I think about it? And maybe, like, make a list or something?’

‘Sure. Yeah, of course,’ Matt said. He’d dropped down to sit on his bed while he was laughing. He was still there, but he was beginning to shuffle nervously.

‘It’s good, Matt. We’re good, and I’m really glad you told me. Thanks for that. Like, _so much_ thanks. Really. It’s just – you know me! I get excited sometimes and it’s like I’m the lovechild of a Labrador and a Great White shark. My mom used to have this thing she’d say to me all the time: _Just because you want to know something, sweetheart, doesn’t mean that other people have to tell you_. Probably the most memorable time she said it was when I found Aunt Trudy’s vibrator in her overnight bag when I was about… maybe twelve? Man, I wanted to know what that thing was! The more they refused to explain, the more I pushed. Eventually, I told them I was going to describe it to my teacher… I can’t remember her name… but anyway, in the end, Dad sat me down and filled me in. He was so uncomfortable, and I was way out of my depth, but I didn’t care. I’d won. Poor Aunt Trudy. God, she must have been mortified. Anyway, the point is, I don’t want to get all caught up in wanting to know, and then just push you for answers. You trusted me with something important and I want to respect that.’

‘Thanks, Foggy.’ Matt got that little puzzled furrow to his brow that Foggy sometimes noticed in an entirely neutral way. ‘A Labrador and a Great White. Huh,’ Matt said. The curious look continued for so long that Foggy began to squirm. It was stupid that he felt exposed, when Matt was the one who’d shared huge secrets.

A minute later, Foggy lost his inner war against the need for deflection. ‘Of course, the most pressing question is this: are you going to teach me to juggle? Because that is a skill I should definitely have.’

Matt seemed to shake off whatever thought he’d been lost in.

‘We can try. For most people I get the impression it’s a bit like learning a language, though: a little instruction and a lot of practise.’

‘Sure. Yeah, I can do that. How long did it take you? Just, you know, ballpark figure.’

‘Ah, about an hour? But I’d been working on lots of other things by then, trying to refine my proprioception and spatial awareness of moving objects.’

‘Right,’ Foggy said, mostly to himself. ‘Looong list of questions.’

 


	5. Honourable Intent

Matt had been reliably informed that there was an actual list of questions. Foggy refused to send him a copy – arguing, despite Matt’s insistence to the contrary, that the rules of discovery didn’t apply when the very purpose of the list was to prevent Foggy’s curiosity from making Matt feel like he was on trial. The list wasn’t about Matt, Foggy had insisted.

A further strategy, to that end, was that they were working their way through The List during their week-long study break. “Working through” in the sense that whenever Foggy’s focus drifted from his textbook or screen, Matt knew he was about to encounter another left of field question about his senses and what they enabled him to do. Since Foggy had realised that enhanced balance was part of the package, those “questions” often involved physical feats.

Matt had discovered that he was able to balance a stress ball on his nose while standing on one leg. Foggy had been perplexed that Matt had never tried it before.

Matt had been sceptical, at first, about Foggy’s insistence that the pressure of study would provide restraint against his boundless desire to ‘tear the whole weird-senses-of-awesomeness situation apart’. So far, though, it seemed to be working. It was nice. Matt found himself dropping some of the façade that he kept for the rest of the world.

Even so, he avoided talking about his time with Stick. If he couldn’t find a way to reframe a particular aspect of his training, he’d tell Foggy to choose a different question. Matt also passed if answering would reveal more intimate details than he was comfortable with. Foggy didn’t push, even though he obviously wanted to. Instead, he’d get up and pace around the room or start swivelling his chair from side to side. He’d rub his hands over his face, blow a breath out from between tight lips. Then “alright” he would say, “fair enough” followed by “striking it off the list, buddy”.

This time, the statement had been accompanied by a particularly emphatic “striking” gesture.

‘Not deleting?’ Matt asked, because he was a little tense from the question and wasn’t ready to get back to work. Poking Foggy was a reliable tactic for procrastination.

‘Nope!’ Foggy said. ‘Literally a strike through! Oh! – I mean obviously you know what a strike-through is, but I’m not sure if you know it’s a formatting option in Word? It’s probably not screen-reader friendly so you might not be familiar with it. But yes! _Struck out_ – the screen-based equivalent of the bold stroke of completion.’

Matt laughed before he could hold it back.

A moment later, Foggy huffed. ‘Don’t be juvenile,’ he said. ‘I’m _talking_ about the wondrous satisfaction of boldly crossing an item off a list. It’s a thing! Deleting just isn’t the same. Also, and I don’t want any judgement here, Murdock: if a question isn’t on The List in some form then it’s just going to be bouncing around in my brain and I am _not_ a strong person where that kind of thing’s concerned! The List is my anchor. My handcuff? Source of restraint. I don’t know, but it’s soothing. The question is on the list. Whether you answer or pass, it gets crossed through. There’s nothing left hanging.’

‘I’m pretty sure completion leaves something hanging for about half the population,’ Matt said. ‘But by all means, tell me more about how striking out makes you reach for handcuffs and take satisfaction in bold strokes.’

Foggy was laughing again, but he was also burning hot to Matt’s senses, which was odd. Matt wasn’t sure he’d known him to blush so intensely before. True, they’d never really shared this particular kind of humour, either. Foggy was such an open person that Matt had assumed it would be fine, but perhaps growing up surrounded by teenage boys had dulled Matt’s ability to gauge such things.

‘Sorry,’ he said. It was uncomfortable, having crossed a line like that. It wasn’t something he’d usually do and he wasn’t sure why he had.

‘Yeah, yeah, you can smell me blushing or whatever,’ Foggy said. ‘Far more troubling is your disrespect for the sacred process of The List, buddy. Honestly, most people would disown you over it but I’m putting your ignorance down to inexperience. After all, your half of the room is adorned with exactly zero lists, while mine is a monument to… well, actually at the moment it’s a monument to how much work I still have to do, but by end of term it’ll be amazing. A fully crossed-off list is a beautiful thing.’

Matt was a bit bemused. Sure, Foggy was goofing around, but there was usually a thread of genuine feeling behind the banter. Lists, for Matt, were usually audio-recorded or screen-read, and he pretty much only used them as study aids. He already spent too much time each day navigating screens and listening to vaguely irritating text-to-speech voices. Fortunately, he had an excellent memory and had learned, over the years, to rely on it. There were lots of things he never bothered to write down, but he was glad to indulge Foggy – not least because he’d steered them past Matt’s stupid faux pas.

‘Anyway, the point is, I’m willing to give you a second chance to develop due respect,’ Foggy stated. ‘I shall prepare a list for your completion and when it’s done you will acknowledge that my reverence for the humble list is both sane and valid.’

‘You’re generosity is boundless,’ Matt replied, because it would play along with the mock-superior tone of Foggy’s offer, and because lately Matt was starting to think that it might be true. ‘Educate me, great master of the list.’

‘See, you think your funny, Murdock, but you’ll soon change your tune. It’s cathartic, I’m telling you. There’ve been times when I’ve left fully completed and crossed off lists stuck to my wall for months. Drove my dad nuts, but what can I say – I’m very visual. Which... isn’t really the point, here.’

‘Well that’s blindingly obvious,’ Matt said, as blandly as he could.

‘Ha, ha.’ Shuffling sounds of paper were followed by the staccato burst of Foggy tapping his pen, in thought. ‘Normal print, press hard,’ he muttered. The acrid-earthy smell of ink wafted through the air. The shallow huff of breath probably meant Foggy was amused by his own efforts.

Matt wondered if he should have just answered Foggy’s initial question, because avoidance clearly opened doors to strange places. Strange would always trump awkward, though, and Foggy had asked how Matt had managed to avoid injury while “learning to fling himself around like he was born under the Big Top of Cirque du Soleil”. The answer would only require two words, but Matt knew that so many more questions would follow. He’d passed off his refusal to answer by implying that his precautions were embarrassing – akin to all sorts of awkward childhood secrets. It should probably have felt more like a lie than it did.

This conversation, he decided, was definitely better.

Foggy declared himself, “Done!” and Matt took the note and pen that were handed to him. As he ran his fingers over the paper to orient himself, he smiled. He’d unconsciously expected entries of only two or three words, but Foggy hadn’t been patronisingly brief.

Matt read out the first item and laughed.

  1. ‘Declaim the virtues of Foggy Nelson, roommate extraordinaire.’

‘Seriously man, no crossing it off until it’s done,’ Foggy said. Then with a credible attempt at gravitas: ‘It’s a social contract between humans and lists. You can’t mess with that.’

‘Fine,’ Matt said. He got to his feet and took a moment to prepare. ‘Let it be known throughout the land that Foggy Nelson is a kind and noble soul, intelligent, courageous, and forthright in all matters of import.’ He spoke with his best ‘declaiming’ voice, but the words were undeniably true. He thought that maybe Foggy could tell, because there was no crowing or banter in response – just a prolonged pause, then a pleased huff of breath.

‘Great!’ Foggy said. ‘Now cross it off!’

Matt took the pen in one hand and found the line of writing with the other. He drew a firm line through the words but didn’t really feel anything about the action itself. ‘You realise you’ve just told me to contractually signal that I’m done with singing your praises?’ he said.

‘It’s like you don’t even know me, Murdock. Would I do that if I wasn’t working an angle, here? I believe protocol calls for progression to item two.’

  2. ‘Pledge an oath of protection to aforementioned roommate,’ Matt read.

Hmm. Foggy was still being given a hard time by some of the students in their year and also around campus, but this didn’t seem like the way he’d address any actual fears. ‘An oath of protection?’ Matt asked. ‘Are we talking foot soldier, duelling second or Captain of the Guard?’

‘Maybe… Oh! I know! Like if Sam Gamgee somehow stole Gandalf’s power. Ooh! And Aragorn’s looks and regal bearing. Samdalfgorn! But, like, not in a slashy shipping way because, just – no,’ Foggy said.

‘Maybe you should stick to Punjabi, Fog. I think English has escaped you. But fine.’ Matt straightened his back and placed a hand over his heart, as was appropriate for such declarations. ‘I, Matthew Michael Murdock-’

‘Michael? Seriously? So alliterative! Nice!’

‘May I continue?’

‘Sorry, of course. Go on.’

‘Thank you,’ Matt said. He cleared his throat pretentiously. ‘I, Matthew _Michael_ Murdock, do solemnly swear my allegiance and protection to one Foggy Unknown Middle Name Nelson’.

‘Percy.’

‘Percy? As in Percival or just…’

‘Percival,’ Foggy said, making the word sound like a sigh.

‘Wow,’ Matt said. ‘I’m impressed you’ve gotten this far in life without my pledge.’

‘Don’t I know it. Now cross off item two, Matthew. We’re not done yet.’

Matt dragged the nib of the pen over the words of item two. There was a strange satisfaction in doing so, but Matt wasn’t sure it had anything to do with an abstract sense of accomplishment. He felt carefully over item three, which was significantly longer.

  3. Agree to accompany said roommate to his family domicile for at least a couple of weeks during break. (Seriously, man, my mom will kill me if I don’t bring you to meet them. You swore an oath of protection, buddy. No backing out now! Besides, I want you there.)

Matt traced over the words again. He’d had sleepovers at friends’ houses as a child, before the accident. He’d also spent time with the families of a few girlfriends over the years. No more than a night or two, but enough to know it was a somewhat inevitable aspect of social etiquette. Of course, Foggy had set this whole situation up knowing that choosing not to answer was a valid way of getting a question crossed off the list.

‘Two weeks?’ Matt asked. ‘That’s a long time for your folks to have a stranger in their home.’

‘Hardly. Apparently Candice is spending the summer backpacking in Europe, which is impossible since there’s no way she’s old enough or cool enough for that, but anyway, according to Mom, that leaves a bed that needs filling. She said you should spend the whole break, which you’re totally welcome to do, by the way! It’d be awesome! I just thought I’d begin with the introvert-friendly starter pack and casually saunter towards the deluxe ‘mí casa is su casa’ proposition, if it seemed like the thing to do. It was going to be subtle, Matt! Part of my new “don’t push, don’t retreat” approach.’

‘I’ll come,’ Matt said.

‘You will?’

‘Sure. Of course. Despite the fact that you’ve spent the last fifteen minutes shamelessly manipulating my testimony, you are, in fact, a good and faithful friend. If two weeks will buy you protection from filicide, then it’s clearly a question of honour. My word is my bond.’

‘Oh, my god! I’m seriously swooning here, buddy. Does swooning have a sound or a smell or whatever? Because you definitely shouldn’t miss out on this.’

From what Matt could detect, Foggy seemed to be fanning at himself with an open hand. ‘Well, obviously swooning smells like lavender,’ he said. ‘A lesser known fact is that it sounds like rose petals tumbling through mist.’

‘Ha! Of course it does. Ooh!’ Foggy said. ‘Now you can cross off item three! Feel the accomplishment, Murdock!’

Matt dutifully picked up the pen and marked off the third item on the list. When he was done, he ran his fingertips over the paper to build an impression of the whole.

‘Thanks,’ he said.

‘Hmm, what’s with the look, buddy?’ Foggy asked.

The sinking feeling Matt had got while brushing his fingers over the page must have taken the lightness from his tone. ‘Nothing,’ he said. It was an automatic response, but Foggy deserved something more. Matt thought about what he was feeling.

‘It’s like… in college I dated this woman, Christina. She wasn’t short on money and she wanted to be inclusive or something, so she bought some tactile art to put around her place – you know, statues, a 3D painting. I didn’t want to tell her that it didn’t really do much for me. It’s not like she asked if it was something I might like, and maybe that was part of the problem, but the kind of focused, intentional interaction that it required isn’t really my thing. Honestly, standing there feeling a painting felt kind of ridiculous, and I could never work out how often I was supposed to pick up a statue and look intrigued. It would have meant more if she’d upgraded the speakers on her stereo, but….  What I’m trying to say is that most people use art in their homes as part of a general ambience. Each piece is part of a larger atmosphere, and maybe crossing things off a list is satisfying in a similar way. You can look at it and take in the totality as well as the detail. It gives perspective, and means something in its graphic context. When _you_ look at this list, you see three crossed off items. I feel them one at a time. Sure, I can run my hand over the whole thing, but that feels like a concerted effort to experience something “like a sighted person”. I’m… I don’t mean to be maudlin. Sorry.’

‘No, I think I get it. Candi is vegan. She hated it when Mom and Dad used to buy those pre-packaged substitutes. Do you know the ones? Fake bacon, fake chicken, fake cheese. I mean, they were trying to support her, but I kind of get her point. There’s a world of non-meat options out there, and she didn’t want to be served up imitation versions of someone else’s idea of food.’

Matt smiled. ‘Yeah. That sounds familiar.’

‘Sorry, man. I really didn’t think I was… well, let’s leave it at that. I didn’t think.’

‘Really, it’s fine,’ Matt said, and he meant it. ‘We were both just goofing around. And... I really like that you don’t try to tiptoe past the blind elephant in the room. I can’t thank you enough for that.’

‘Uugh! Matt! Don’t thank me for treating you like a person!’ Foggy said. His exasperation sounded more real than humorous. ‘I don’t want a gold star for breathing, and I don’t want one for being a mostly decent human being, either.’

‘Being decent isn’t as easy as breathing, Foggy,’ Matt argued. If it was, then surely a lot more people would do it. Instead, his time with Elektra had shown him how easy it was to not give a damn.

‘Breathing? Easy? Are you kidding? We grew up in Hell’s Kitchen, man! Think of the summers. The day before rubbish collection, breathing was an act of courage. Catching the subway was positively heroic.’

A sudden wave of visceral memories surged in response to Foggy’s words, and Matt smiled.

‘I concede that point,’ he said. ‘But you realise you just tore down your original argument, right?’

There was a beat of silence, followed by a groan and then a plaintive sobbing sound. ‘I’m going to have to be a butcher,’ Foggy whined. ‘Save me, Murdock. Direct me back to the noble path of lawyerly wisdom.’

‘Well, I did swear to protect you, and I suppose that includes from yourself, so sure. Here’s my advice,’ Matt said. ‘Pick up a book, Foggy.’

‘I knew you’d say that. You’re harsh, man!’

Matt returned to his desk, and tucked the completed list into his drawer.


	6. On Chosen Wing

Matt was feeling good by the time he finished his Crim Law exam. There hadn’t been anything unexpected on the paper, and the logistical aspects had been fine. Foggy would be back at the dorm by now and Matt was looking forward to the pizza and post-mortem session they’d planned.

He was just passing through the foyer of the student support centre when he heard Kevin speaking somewhere across the room. Moments later, Matt registered that he was being pointed out to someone; a man who didn’t sound familiar. Matt kept walking but slowed his steps a little. He was keen to get back to the dorm, but also curious.

By the time he was making his way down the stairs at the front of the building, the man had almost caught up with him.

‘Matthew.’

Matt took the last two steps to the bottom then turned to wait. ‘Hello?’ he asked.

‘Hi. I’m Anton Burgess,’ the man said. ‘I lecture here at Columbia Law.’

‘Nice to meet you. Please, call me Matt.’

Matt held out his hand and Anton shook it.

‘I trust your exam went well? You don’t look too traumatised.’

‘It was fine, thanks,’ Matt said. He was wondering when Professor Burgess would get to the point.

‘I suspect you’re being modest. I’ve heard you’re doing extremely well.’

Matt was never sure how to respond to those kinds of remarks. He repressed the impulse to fidget with the elastic strap on his cane. ‘I enjoy what I’m learning,’ he said.

Professor Burgess smelled mostly of coffee, but also of the kind of sweat that came from wearing synthetic fibres close to the skin. There was a slight wheeze to his breathing, more noticeable when he huffed a quiet laugh.

‘I look forward to having you in my class,’ he said. ‘Actually, I caught up with you because I have a request. I teach Aging and Disability Law. You won’t be taking the subject til third year but it’d be great if you’d come along as a guest speaker next term. I run a panel in second or third week, with speakers who have first hand experience of the strengths and limitations of the ADA. I try to choose people who’ll shake up some of the uninformed biases that students bring with them at the start of term.’ Burgess gave another muted laugh. ‘I suspect I won’t have to work so hard at that when your cohort comes my way, given that you’re leaving most of them in the dust with your grades. Anyway, have a think about it but I can’t imagine it’ll be too taxing. I’m sure you’re capable of giving a cogent analysis of the relevant issues over your morning coffee!’

Matt tried for an expression that was politely neutral. ‘Thank you, Professor,’ he said. ‘I’ll think it over.’

‘Great!’ Burgess said. ‘Great. I look forward to hearing what you have to say. I’ll send you an email to confirm and we’ll go from there.’

‘Alright. Ah, thanks. Thank you, Professor,’ Matt said.

‘You’re welcome, Matthew, and no need to be all flustered. Honestly, I’m looking forward to having you in my class when the time comes. It’s great to know that one of our best and brightest is destined for something other than high-flying corporate law for a change.’ He put his hand on Matt’s shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said.

‘Sure. Ah, bye, Professor,’ Matt said. He spent a few moments fiddling with his cane and reorienting himself to his surroundings, wanting to avoid the awkwardness of trailing along in the same direction Burgess had headed.

Once enough time had passed, Matt walked slowly back to his room. He occupied his mind with listening to the rhythmic tapping of his cane and its reverberations through the spaces around him.

0  0  0

Foggy was feeling good. Really good. He’d totally aced that exam! Absolutely none of the nightmares and horror fantasies of the last week had come to pass. He hadn’t turned up on the wrong day or to the wrong place. He hadn’t suffered temporary memory loss or hyperventilated himself into a coma. The building hadn’t caught fire. He hadn’t turned up in his pyjamas or the old-fashioned powdered wig and robes that sometimes featured in his dreams. Sure, there had been a few minutes of brain freeze every now and then, but he was confident that he’d pulled himself together well enough to fully address every question they’d thrown at him.

The faint sound of movement in the hall caught his attention.

‘Hey, Matt, how’d it go?’ It was Arjun’s voice, not far from their door. He still sounded nervous. Foggy had walked with him for a bit when they’d left the exam hall, and they’d tried to assess the damage wrought by Arjun’s pre-exam insomnia. They’d concluded that his grade wouldn’t fully reflect his knowledge, but he’d get through.

Foggy could hear the low murmur of Matt’s response, but not his words. He hoped they were something diplomatic, if not reassuring. Not that Matt was a jerk. It was just obvious he didn’t really understand exam stress. Why would he? His work ethic was impressive, his focus and recall were kind of amazing, and his chill under pressure was frankly unfair to lesser mortals. It could have been intimidating, but actually it just inspired the hell out of Foggy. He’d won the jackpot, really, when it came to assigned roommates.

The door opened and Foggy bounced up from his bed. He was across the room in three steps and had his arms thrown awkwardly around Matt’s shoulders by the time the door was closed. Matt was thrown off balance but didn’t stumble too badly. Foggy almost pulled back, realising what he’d done, but his excitement won through.

‘Dance with me, buddy! We did it! I don’t even need to ask how it went. No problem, right! Murdock and Nelson: one step closer to being super successful, fancy-ass lawyers!’

Matt shuffled his feet obligingly as Foggy turned them on the spot. When Foggy let up, Matt was looking kind of befuddled. Foggy couldn’t resist ruffling his hair. ‘You have the worst dance form ever,’ he said.

‘I was ambushed,’ Matt replied with pointed distain, then immediately broke out in a wide smile. ‘So, I assume this is the bit where I get to say “I told you so”?’

‘Pah!’ Foggy said. ‘I totally knew it would be fine. I was just trying to give you the complete Law School Experience. I figured vicarious angst was the closest you’d get to an Impending-Exam Meltdown. You can thank me any time.’

‘Wow. Thanks, Foggy,’ Matt said. There wasn’t a scrap of sincerity in it.

Foggy was definitely underappreciated.

‘You should be thanking me! Celebratory pizza and beer! Light beer, sadly, since the joy of exam week is far from over….’

‘My, Mr Nelson, how you’ve grown. That’s almost responsible of you.’

‘Yeah, yeah. Enough bullshit, buddy. How’d it go?’

‘It was fine. Good. You were right when you said we should focus on People v Taylor for the inevitable statutory interpretation question.’

‘Eh. Lucky guess,’ Foggy said.

‘Maybe, if it was the only time you’d been right about these things. You have good instincts, Fog. You’re quick to pick out the salient issues and extrapolate their implications.’

‘Salient?’ Foggy said, with the appropriate degree of raised eyebrow. He knew the attitude behind it would carry in his voice.

‘Still in exam mode. Don’t deflect, just take the compliment.’

Foggy sighed, even though Matt’s words made him grin. ‘Thanks, man,’ he said. ‘I’m working on it.’

‘Good. Now let’s eat. You know the call of mushroom is siren song to me. I could smell it as soon as I entered the building.’

‘Remind me to roll in fungi if I ever want your undivided attention,’ Foggy said, and then almost chocked on his own spit.

Matt tilted his head like he was imagining the scene, then laughed. ‘I’d like to see that,’ he said, as he headed for the pizza boxes on Foggy’s desk.

‘Well, yeah, I can see how that would top the list,’ Foggy said. Time for an actual change of subject. ‘So there were no problems with tech or anything this time?’

‘No, it was all good. I think Kevin’s been on high alert for a couple weeks. After last time, he’s determined to make sure everything goes to plan.’

‘Well that’s good. Hooray for people doing their job.’

‘He was new last term, Foggy. People are allowed to take time to get up to speed. Besides, it wasn’t entirely his fault.’

‘Yeah, yeah. I just don’t like seeing you messed around. You know that.’ Foggy elbowed Matt aside so he could shuffle slices of each topping between the two boxes. Matt could legit sniff out the most decadently topped slices and wasn’t beyond snavelling them for himself.

‘I do. Thanks, Fog. Actually, ah, there’s something I wouldn’t mind getting your opinion on, if that’s alright? It’s not about the exam and I know we need to get back to studying in a bit. It’s just…’ Matt picked up a beer off the desk and twisted it open.

‘My wisdom is at your disposal, man.’ Pizza duly distributed, Foggy positioned a box so he could reach it while sitting on his bed. ‘I’m all ears,’ he said. The words had to find their way past a mouthful of pizza, but they were still roughly intelligible when they broke free.

‘Thanks. It’s just… one of the law professors caught up with me after the exam. Burgess. He teaches disability law. He asked me if I’d be part of a panel of speakers talking to students about the ADA. He, ah, actually, he kind of assumed I’d say yes.’ Matt took a mouthful of his beer, and made a face.

‘Eat some pizza, man. Mushrooms, remember,’ Foggy said, because he would always be a Nelson ahead of anything else. ‘So, what’s the issue? You don’t want to do the panel? You’re annoyed that he assumed?’

Matt picked up a slice of pizza like it was something to occupy his hands. ‘Well, I’m not really the best person to speak on behalf of others who’re blind, for a start,’ he said.

‘Sure, maybe, but you could speak for yourself. It’s not like limitations in the ADA and non-compliance issues don’t affect you.’

Matt put the piece of pizza down. ‘I can’t talk about that, though, Foggy. There’s no way I could do it without a whole lot of misdirection and lies, especially if there’s a Q and A component.’

‘Matt, no offense, buddy, but you pretty much embody the definition of misdirection every time you walk out that door.’

‘That’s not the same. I… look, forget that. Even if I could find a way around the obvious complications, I… I don’t really want to. Professor Burgess just assumed I’d be glad to do it, and it’s nice, I suppose, that he asked. But it takes time for people to stop thinking of me as ‘the blind guy’ and start treating me like a person. I don’t see the benefit in doing anything that’ll set that process back. These are the people I’ll be going out to work among.’

‘I get that, I do, but isn’t it possible that hearing about your experience might make you more approachable. You know that a big part of the barrier is that people are afraid they’ll end up looking stupid or insensitive.’

‘It never stopped you,’ Matt said. It could have been a dig, but then he gave Foggy his goofy sweet smile.

‘Eat your pizza, you big goober,’ Foggy said, because, sure, the look was endearing as hell, but he’d come to realise that Matt’s sweet nature was mercurial. It was something to enjoy, but not invest in.

Matt grabbed a slice and crammed half of it into his mouth.

Foggy took a moment to get started on his beer. It was pretty bad, honestly, but it was redeemed by the sweet flavour of lingering success. Today, he’d earned his second-rate alcohol. ‘If you don’t want to do it. Don’t do it.’

Matt frowned while he worked his way through the remainder of his mouthful. ‘You’re right, I know. And I shouldn’t worry about what he thinks of me. He told me I’m “destined” to work in disability law. I mean, people assume that all the time but surely he should know better. I should have told him I’m not even planning to take his class.’

‘Someone needs to tell him it only stops being a ghetto if the door’s left open. I have zero intention of skipping down the rainbow path to queer law, or queer law firms. Not that I’m not hella grateful there are people who make that choice. I totally am. I just don’t feel like it’s my place. It’s not the path I’ve imagined for myself for the last forever, you know? I want to be myself _and_ do what I was always going to do.’

‘Exactly. And I don’t want to be treated like some blind prodigy for doing it.’

‘Matt, you kind of are a blind prodigy, or savant, or something. Not because you’re awesome at law – that’s pure intellect and hard work. But the other stuff.’

‘That comment is _exactly_ why I practise misdirection every time I walk out of this room! I’m not anything special, Foggy. I’m just myself, and I don’t want to feel like a circus act when I do things that are perfectly normal for me.’

‘Alright. I’m sorry. I don’t think of you as some kind of spectacle – you know that. Or, wow, I hope you know that. But then, you probably also know that I _do_ get a bit giddy at some of your acrobatics. I can’t help it, man! And to be fair, you seem to enjoy showing off. But if it makes you feel any better, I get just as silly over people who can play the cello. I don’t know why, it just does things to me.’

‘I don’t show off,’ Matt said. He had a grumpy face, but the slight quirk of his lips was totally giving him away. He tried to disguise it by shoving more pizza in his mouth, because he didn’t know the meaning of subtle.

‘Drop the pouty face, Murdock – you totally do. Besides, I like it when you get into your performance zone. You’re allowed to be proud of your skills, man.’

As usual, Matt didn’t concede anything. He chewed his way through another slice of pizza, looking increasingly intense.

‘It never felt like showing off with Elektra,’ he said, eventually. ‘From the moment she tried to kick me in the face I knew that I didn’t need to hold anything back – that she wouldn’t stick around if I did.’ This time his smile wasn’t goofy or sweet; it was fifty percent enthralled and one hundred percent savage.

It overrode the part of Foggy’s brain that should be telling him to stop and think.

 

‘She tried to kick you?!’

Foggy’s words tugged at Matt’s attention.

‘Tried,’ he said, and it felt good to talk about it – more than good; something too sharp to be relief, but close.

‘Why? In what possible context?!’

‘She knows ballet,’ Matt said, because that was his first thought. Elektra fought like it was a dance. She made love the same way, every part of her body alert and functioning with intent. ‘Also Capoeira and Muay Thai,’ he added, because that would make more sense. ‘She’s good. I’m better.’

‘Not to be a jerk, buddy, but I’ve seen you taken out by a low-hanging tree branch… oh, my god! You let that happen on purpose! You did, didn’t you? Oh, Matt… that’s… ugh! One thing at a time. Elektra tried to kick you in the head? So, what, you’d told her about all of this super-senses stuff and she just thought, “Hey, I know, let’s see if he can sense a foot flying at his _face_?!”’

‘I didn’t tell her, she knew. She wanted to make me give myself away, and it worked. We fought. Like I said, I’m better.’ Not by much, not always, and even in defeat Elektra never failed to gain the upper hand. It didn’t matter: every one of Matt’s victories had been more honest than he’d thought he knew how to be.

‘And that’s why she ditched you – because you fought back?’

‘No,’ Matt said. He wasn’t going to discuss the fact that fighting had become foreplay between them; that it often lingered in their sexual encounters as well. ‘I realise it sounds… that it might be uncommon, but it was just sport, a workout. We’re well matched.’ They had been, until there were things Matt wouldn’t do: a man tied to a chair, the whisper of a blade swung and proffered.

‘Alright. Sure. But how do you know how to fight? I mean, I know your dad was a boxer but that was a long time ago. Surely you were too young to have picked up much of his technique?’

The prospect of talking about his training, about Stick, shouldn’t have seemed like a reprieve, but the wounds were less recent than some others. ‘Dad didn’t want me to fight, but he didn’t want me defenceless, either. He taught me how to throw a punch, how to block, some basic footwork. I took lessons later. Not so much boxing. More like mixed martial arts. The guy who trained me was a bit of a jerk, but he wasn’t going to reveal anything he found out about me. He got me on track. I learned a lot from him. After that I trained alone. I still do, when I get the time and space.’

‘Right. And Elektra knew this. And you fought together just… I mean, I want to say _just for kicks_ , but in this context I’m pretty sure a pun might be a lapse of judgement caused by a surge in cognitive dissonance.’

‘Yeah,’ Matt said. ‘Yeah, we did. It was… actually, it was the best.’

‘Alright. I can… yeah. I can imagine that having someone who could do all the acrobatics and… and martial arts… because you _know_ martial arts…. You have _super senses_ and know _martial arts_ , and you’re a nerd who tops his classes and studies for fun. Also a bit of a dork. So, yep, cognitive dissonance,’ Foggy said. There was something in his tone that caught Matt’s attention, and he realised they hadn’t really talked about Elektra since that day near the start of term. This didn’t feel the same. ‘You’re an enigma, Murdock. Who else has known, besides Elektra and your fight master dude?’ Foggy asked.

‘No one. I’d never really planned to tell anyone, but she knew. It was… unexpected.’

‘And is that why you told me? Because otherwise you’d have been back to having no one who knew? Not a criticism, buddy, just curios.’

‘Maybe that was part of it. Honestly, I didn’t really think it through. I’d never intended to tell you.’ And, honestly, although the sentiment that had moved Matt to tell Foggy still felt genuine, Matt remained surprised that he’d done it.

‘Why, Matt? I mean, I’m not going to go all boa constrictor on you again, but why did you think you couldn’t tell me? What did you think my reaction would be?’

‘It wasn’t about that. I never considered how you’d respond because I just… I’ve never told anyone. People are… well, they’re transient.’

‘You think I’m transient? That our friendship is situational?’

‘Maybe? Or, not really. I don’t know, Foggy. I don’t… I’ve known you for longer than anyone else who’s currently in my life, but that’s still less than a year.’ Matt could hear that Foggy was upset. It was frustrating. He hadn’t intended to be uncaring or harsh, just honest. He sat, tension building, while Foggy took deliberate breaths that were followed by a gusty sigh.

‘Actually, that makes sense,’ Foggy said. ‘I hadn’t thought about it before, but yeah. Fair warning, though: I’m pretty invested in establishing that we Nelsons have staying power, even if it takes a whole lot of years to make you believe it.’

‘That’s… I’d like that,’ Matt said. It didn’t matter if Foggy was being naïve – it was a nice idea. Matt found he wanted to undo some of the hurt that his honesty had stirred up. ‘Look, Foggy, it’s true that I didn’t plan to tell you, but I meant what I said that day. I respect you. I haven’t really known a lot of people who show their strength by being an open book. It’s strange, but I like it.’

‘Thanks, man,’ Foggy said, and he sounded genuinely pleased. Moments later, though, he was swinging his legs, his feet making quiet shuffing sounds on the carpet. ‘Look, tell me to back off if you want, but maybe you could consider trying it for yourself – the whole “open book” thing. I’ve been thinking about the situation ever since you told me about your true Kal-El self, and I still can’t come up with a solid case for keeping your abilities a secret. The cost is too high, Matt. What happened before, with me grabbing you to dance: that’s how it should be all the time. I mean, not the whole ungainly shuffle thing, but the fact that I knew you’d sense me coming. You shouldn’t have to interact with the world at a distance just to keep up the charade. If there’s a Frisbee flying at your head when you’re crossing the lawn, you should be able to grab it. Also if it’s flying at my head, because honestly that kind of coordination isn’t my strong point, and yes, I speak from experience. But you get my point, right? I know there’ve been reasons why you’ve done it, but you shouldn’t have to hold back if you don’t want to.’

‘Are we calling that a dance, because I’m not sure it qualifies,’ Matt said, and forced a provocative smile.

‘Is that your way of saying you don’t want to talk about it?’

‘It just wasn’t much of a dance, that’s all. I guess the rumours of your talent were greatly exaggerated.’

‘All you have to do is tell me to drop it, Matt,’ Foggy said, and his tone told Matt the conversation wasn’t going to be derailed.

‘Can… can you drop it?’ he asked.

‘Sure. No problem. Sorry, buddy.’

‘It’s fine. I just… exams aren’t over yet. I don’t really want the distraction.’ It was true, but also incomplete. That kind of “what if” thinking was something Matt had trained himself to avoid. Indulging in it would always be a distraction.

‘Of course,’ Foggy said. His feet had stopped their shuffling at some point and he made a slight huffing sound as he wriggled around on his bed. Eventually, Matt heard him settle against the headboard. ‘So tell me about this training you said you do? I always suspected you were sleepwalking to the campus gym, because those abs didn’t come from nowhere.’

Matt felt himself blush. It wasn’t something he was prone to, but it had been a strange conversation. ‘Mostly I work out here while you’re out, but it’s frustrating. There’s not really enough space. There are a few places on campus where I can work through some drills or run staircases at night, as long as I keep track that no one else is around.’

‘Wait, are you saying you go out in the middle of the night for this? How often? When?’

‘Hmm. Two, sometimes three times a week?’

‘Wow! How did I not know this?’

‘Fog, I can tell what stage of the sleep cycle you’re in. I make sure you’re fully out when I leave, and before I open the door when I return.’

‘Well, at least you won’t need to bother with that anymore.’

‘I wouldn’t want to wake you by moving around at the wrong time.’

‘It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,’ Foggy said.

Matt was coming up with a sound argument in protest when Foggy spoke again.

‘You know, I’ve always thought people who keep birds in cages mustn’t be able to imagine the exhilaration of flight. I want you to fly, buddy. Now that I know, don’t make me part of the cage.’

Matt filled his mouth with cold pizza. He wasn’t hungry, but it meant he only needed to nod to show Foggy that he understood. When he was finished the slice, he shut the box and grabbed a tissue to wipe his hands. ‘We should probably get back to work,’ he said.

Foggy groaned, but got up to clear his desk anyway.


	7. Fog, are you awake?

Matt was glad to have the room to himself the next morning. He had some review to do for tomorrow’s exams, but he was too restless to sit down. He wanted to run. He wanted the rhythmic pounding of his feet on pavement, the impact crashing through his body. Wanted the sound of his own breathing, loud in his ears.

Instead he’d stretched, done squats, and was well into a set of crunches.

He wanted to run.

He’d been complacent. Not with his physical training, although he rarely managed enough of that. But, no. Last night had made it clear that he’d been lax in his thinking, as well.

He should have been ready. Foggy’s suggestion that Matt could be open, that he could somehow declare his unique and troubling skill set to the whole world, shouldn’t have thrown him off balance. There was no comparison between his own situation and Foggy’s. Instead of making Foggy understand, though, Matt had tried to hide behind evasive manoeuvres, then fled the ring.

He didn’t know why he’d done it. His rebuttal should have come easily. The whole notion was ridiculous. Matt had done some research and had found that people “came out” about all kinds of gender identities as well as sexualities. He knew it wasn’t easy or uncomplicated. He knew it wasn’t without cost. Sometimes he heard Foggy’s heart rate spike as he stood frozen in front of his closet, or on days when the smell of hair product hung heavily in the air. He heard the excess tension in Foggy’s voice and body after a bad day. Even for someone as bold as Foggy, being open was a challenge. The thing was, Matt wasn’t afraid of a challenge, he just knew that his situation wasn’t the same.

His would be a fight he couldn’t win. Shouldn’t win. That was a fact that Foggy apparently wanted to ignore, which was fine. There was no reason why Foggy should play guardian to Matt’s obligations. The problem was that Matt had been complacent. He hadn’t _told_ Elektra, but the experience of freedom that came from her knowing had been intoxicating. Foggy knowing had been an entirely different experience – fun at times, and interesting in the conversations it invited, but also strangely ordinary. Maybe it was because they lived together. The constant reality of not having to maintain pretence within his own living space felt more significant than the occasionally bizarre questions and demonstrations Foggy enjoyed.

Perhaps that sense of ease had weakened the clarity that Matt had believed unshakeable. Nothing Foggy had said should have left him feeling the way he felt now; shouldn’t have caused him to toss and turn through an uncomfortable night. The truth was simple: Matt kept his secret and everyone was better off.

He grunted as he pushed his way through a few more crunches, then flopped with his arms sprawled above his head. He’d move on to push-ups in a minute. No. Now.

He flipped into position and began.

Even with her recklessness, Elektra had never raised it as an issue. Matt suspected she enjoyed being the only one who knew. She certainly took endless amusement from exploiting the secrecy of his abilities in any number of social settings. Matt had no particular interest in delving into the conversations around him, or in reading unnecessarily intimate details from people’s scents and sounds, but he did enjoy Elektra’s delight.

She’d never questioned whether his secrecy was necessary, or what it cost him. Stick certainly hadn’t.

Even so, Matt should have been prepared. Shouldn’t have needed preparation-

He stilled.

Foggy was outside. Not at the door, but not far down the hall.

Matt should have noticed the familiar sound, but he hadn’t been listening for it. Surely it was too soon.

He jumped up and wiped himself over. The room was heated enough to be comfortable while sitting still for hours, so sweat was clinging to his skin. His pullover caught on the residual dampness as he dragged it on.

He was sitting at his desk, booting up his laptop, by the time the inevitable jiggling of the lock, and “You there, Matt?” passed through the door.

‘You’re back early,’ he said, once Foggy entered the room.

Foggy’s heart was pounding. ‘What? No, I…’ There was a brief pause and then he made a strangled sound. ‘Sorry, but I have to say this. If I didn’t know about the exercise thing, buddy, I’d be wondering if I’d come back at a really bad time just now. Look at you! You’re all… it, ah, it _is_ because you were exercising, right? Because I could…’

‘No!’ Matt said. ‘I mean, yes. I was exercising.’

‘And you know you don’t have to be ashamed, right? It’s a perfectly normal and healthy thing to do,’ Foggy said. He was clearly struggling to contain his laughter.

‘Fog.’ Matt said, then waited for his hilarious roommate's snickering to settle. The teasing should have been ridiculous, but just minutes ago Matt had leapt from the floor and tried to disguise what he’d been doing. He wasn’t entirely sure why. ‘I thought your study group would go for a couple hours, at least,’ he said. ‘Not that it’s a problem. I mean, it’s your room too. I just… is everything alright?’

‘Oh! Study group. That’s what’s behind this not-at-all-uncomfortable encounter! I wasn’t _at_ study group. I had an appointment with Siobhan. Last one, actually, unless something new crops up.’

‘Siobhan? Oh, your counsellor, right?’ Matt asked. He felt thrown off balance by Foggy’s return and the conversation. He needed to stretch, cool down and shower.

‘Counsellor, Deity of Wisdom and Hard Liquor, Queen of Take-no-Shit but Shit-on-No-One… so many things, really.’

‘Right.’ Matt smiled as he gathered his towel and shower kit, touched by Foggy’s obvious affection for Siobhan. He couldn’t imagine feeling that way about the counsellors he’d been sent to after his accident or his father’s death, but Foggy tended to bring out the best in people and then act as though it was obvious all along. ‘I’m going to go shower. Want to quiz each other when I get back?’

‘Sure, buddy. That’d be great. Oh, and sorry I interrupted your alone time.' It would have sounded more sincere if Foggy hadn’t laughed.

Matt decided it was less complicated to play it straight. ‘No problem.’

‘Actually, I, ah, I wanted to ask you something. I’d really like to come along one night and watch one of your workout sessions, if that’s not too weird or whatever. I think it’d be like a hard reset, you know: wipe out my unconscious assumptions and overwrite them with something closer to reality; embrace the superiority of experiential knowledge over theoretical understanding… And, alright, I’m also hella curious and a little bit in awe and just want to see for myself, but yeah, mostly just to reset the faulty programming. So?’

Foggy was going to be a great lawyer. Not with the rambling—he’d have to keep that under control—but because he could anticipate a gut level rejection of his proposal and inject a kind of neutral logic to forestall it. He was also skilled at offering enough personal honesty to engender good will. Or maybe Matt just didn’t want to analyse his own dawning realisation that working out had become not just secretive, but a furtive endeavour. Whatever the reason, by the end of Foggy’s request, Matt had shifted from an automatic “no” to a wavering “maybe”.

 

0  0  0

 

It felt good to move.

It had been a long day with two exams. They’d been fine, but that kind of focused attention always left Matt itching with adrenalin that couldn’t be expended through an outpouring of words. Even after he’d finished writing, it had felt like too long before campus would quiet down for the night. He’d needed to put serious effort into hiding how eager he was to get going. He’d apparently failed. There’d been unwarranted comparisons to dogs and small children. Foggy thought himself hilarious.

Matt focused on the footwork, twists and flexes of his warm up. It was odd being aware of Foggy’s presence. For most of Matt’s life, the sound of someone nearby had been an automatic signal to stop doing anything unexpected. His time with Elektra had gone some way to shifting that conditioning, but she’d been a kindred spirit – or as close to one as Matt had ever known. Foggy’s attention felt different. Matt was sharply aware that none of this was commonplace to Foggy.

He pushed up onto his hands and moved through a series of low flips and cartwheels, while keeping his awareness extended beyond Foggy’s elevated heart rate and slightly irregular breathing. The area was empty. It was a small patch of artificial grass laid down between buildings. There were no security cameras nearby, which Matt though was an oversight on the part of the university – though not one that he wanted corrected. It wasn’t the kind of area anyone would usually visit after hours.

He started on a combination of kicks, blocks, and jabs. It wasn’t his usual routine because it wasn’t as effective without a bag to work against. Foggy had wanted to set a new baseline, though, and Matt enjoyed the challenge of improvising a fluid progression that pushed his ability to kick higher, faster, stronger – to always be three steps ahead in planning the twists and flips that would minimise vulnerabilities and strengthen his attack.

Foggy’s earlier comment about showing off flashed through Matt’s mind and he grinned before dismissing the idea. He wasn’t showing off. He was telling the truth.

 

An hour later they were walking back to their room. It was almost two, and Matt was enjoying the sharp edge that came with the inevitable drop in temperature.

‘I don’t remember the last time I was out this late while sober,’ Foggy said. ‘You gonna be alright for your exam tomorrow afternoon? Shit, _this afternoon_ , as in later _today_.’

‘Sure. Honestly, I’ll sleep better for having gotten some exercise.’

‘Well, yeah. I’m pretty sure I wore myself out just watching. If I leapt around like that, I’d be dead! That was seriously awesome, buddy. I mean, I knew it would be, but I had no idea!’

Matt smiled to himself. He’d heard Foggy’s gasps over his own steady breathing.

‘I know I joked about you sleepwalking to the gym,’ Foggy said, his excitement still obvious, ‘but would that even be a thing you’d do? Not the sleepwalking – the gym. I can’t imagine there’d be much you’d get out of it.’

‘No, actually a gym would be great. More strength training and cardio is always useful,’ Matt said, even though he suspected what would follow.

‘So… you know being blind doesn’t mean you can’t join a gym, right? Sure, you’d have to put up with more help than you actually need—and probably some offensive assumptions about what you’re capable of—but you could run on a hamster wheel, lift heavy things, punch stuff… do whatever it is that people go to those places to do.’

‘Sure. And pull my punches, lift below my strength, jog as though the treadmill’s a blessing because it keeps me safe.’

Foggy grabbed Matt’s arm and pulled them to a stop.

‘You’re allowed to be strong, Matt! You’re allowed to be fast. I’m not saying you have to do your whole backflippy kickass thing in front of anyone, obviously. You told me to leave that alone, and I will. But there are blind gymnasts, swimmers, runners, skiers… which you know about, of course, because _I’m_ not the expert here. Sorry. I’m messing this up.’ Foggy dropped his hand from Matt’s shoulder and took a deep breath. ‘Don’t push, don’t retreat,’ he muttered. ‘The thing is, I care about you, Matt, and that means I want you to do the things you love.’

Matt wasn’t going to duck out this time.

‘I know you’re trying to help, Foggy, but you don’t understand. There’s no neat separation between what I can do because of my senses, and what I can do because of training. My strategies are built around three-sixty degree awareness. My balance isn’t something most blind people can achieve. It’s not even something most sighted people can achieve. And, yes, I know there are blind people who are exceptions. The reason I know is because they _draw attention_. That’s exactly the point. I can’t show what I’m capable of or all those years of training become worthless.’

There was a long stretch of silence before Foggy spoke. He sounded upset.

‘Matt, did you hear what you just said?’

He had. It wasn’t a statement that Battlin’ Jack Murdock would ever have allowed.

It wasn’t even something Stick had said directly, but Matt knew the old man would approve. It burned, realising how much Stick’s agenda was still shaping Matt’s mind. It wasn’t a simple matter of deciding Stick was wrong, though. Matt had never told his dad about his senses. He could only infer what his dad would say. Stick had been fully informed and very clear. “Hide your strengths until they’re needed. Make it clear you’re not someone to mess with, but don’t give too much away. Keep the enemy guessing.”

‘I… yeah. I know it sounded bad, Foggy. I’m just… I’m trying to work this out, but it’s complicated. I told you about my martial arts instructor, right? He was… maybe I haven’t spent enough time thinking it through.’

‘Anyone who made you think your talents are worthless unless you hide them is messed up, Matt.’

‘Maybe. Like I said, he was a bit of a jerk.’

‘Yeah, I know what that’s like. I had a theatre teacher once who told me fat boys could only play supporting roles. It hurt, but in the end I decided she was an idiot. When I step into a courtroom to do my job, I’m not going to be anyone’s sidekick.’

‘Of course you won’t. You’re going to be an awesome lawyer, Fog.’

‘Thanks, man.’ Foggy wrapped an arm around Matt’s shoulders and began steering them towards the dorm. ‘Just do me a favour, alright? Try to remember that you called my openness a strength. You’re plenty strong, Murdock.’

 

0  0  0

 

Fireball was disgusting. Matt took another mouthful and tried to work out why he’d let Foggy convince him it was suitable for a celebration. The cinnamon was real, but that was all it had going for it. It didn’t make up for the cloying sweetness. If Foggy was around, Matt would inform him that he—Franklin Percival Nelson—was never choosing the alcohol again.

Foggy was still in his exam, though.

Last one.

Hooray.

Matt took another swig. Man, it was awful.

He knew he shouldn’t have gotten started before Foggy returned. This was meant to be a shared celebration before they hit the bars and joined the ocean of students who’d be drinking to celebrate or drinking to forget. The time after exams but preceding results was apparently complicated for a lot of people. Mostly they seemed to deal with it by drinking.

Matt had sat his last exam the previous afternoon and it had been fine.

He took another swallow. It was still awful, but less so. That was something he could work with.

 

The bottle was lighter by the time he heard a familiar jingle of keys.

‘You there, Matt?’

He laughed. ‘No,’ he said. He kept his voice really level so it would sound honest. He wasn’t sure if he’d spoken loudly enough, though. Maybe Foggy wouldn’t hear it through the door, because of the keys and other noises that were turned up so loud. ‘No,’ he said, again. It came out louder, but this time there was way too much laughter behind it.

Foggy came through the door and then froze. He hardly moved.

‘You there, Foggy?’ Matt said.

‘Sure, I’m here, buddy.’

Foggy was usually better at jokes than this. ‘You’re supposed to say _no_ ,’ Matt told him. ‘It’s funny, but only if it sounds sincere. Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Foggy.’

‘Right. Also the highest form of intelligence, if we’re going to quote Wilde. Pretty sure sarcasm’s not going to get us through law school though. Is there…’

Foggy made a symphony of sounds that came from swinging his arms, rotating his shoulders and plodding his feet as he crossed the room. He dropped down on his bed to sit opposite Matt.

‘Is there a reason you got started without me, buddy? Not complaining – I just haven’t seen you get drunk during the day before. Or alone.’

‘I finished the semester yesterday, Foggy. I’m _supposed_ to celebrate. I have nothing to do. Nothing to work on. Nothing to think about.’ Wow. Actually, end of semester sounded like a terrible idea. Maybe it would get better now that Foggy was here. Foggy was good at celebrating. ‘Ooh! We should go dancing!’ Matt said. ‘You can prove you’re as good as you say! C’mon, Foggy!’

‘Not sure that’s a great idea, buddy,’ Foggy said.

That was odd. Matt knew Foggy had never lied about his skills and he was hardly ever shy.

‘It’s a very _good_ idea. Besides, it would give me a chance to restore my honour. You called my moves ungainly. That was really unkind, Fog.’

‘We both know there’s nothing ungainly about you, Murdock. You’re pretty drunk though, buddy. I’m not sure your judgement’s all it could be, right now.’

Matt huffed. ‘So… what? You think I’ll embarrass you? I won’t. Watch.’ He jumped up, and there was a sloshing sound as something tipped over on his bed. Shit. The Fireball. Luckily Foggy was quick to rescue it, because Matt was focused on proving that he was absolutely fine to go out. He pushed up into a handstand and waited for Foggy to sound impressed. His legs wobbled a bit, but he pointed his toes and made it look intentional. The whole thing was kind of unpleasant, though, with the blood rushing to his head. His tuck and roll landed a bit harder than he’d expected, but the floor was comfortable.

‘You’re amazing, buddy,’ Foggy said. He sounded soft and a little bit sad.

‘Don’t be sad,’ Matt told him. ‘Have a drink! We’re _celebrating_.’

‘I think you’ve had enough for both of us.’

Matt thought about that. ‘I think I might have,’ he confided. ‘I _really_ don’t want to get up.’

‘That makes sense,’ Foggy agreed. Matt had known he’d understand. He let himself focus on the wide sweeps of movement that were turning the room. They were faster around the edges – unpredictable shifts that were difficult to keep up with.

‘You know when we should celebrate?’ he said. ‘When we get to your place. We can go somewhere where nobody knows I’m blind, and I’ll show you that I can dance… or… or you can teach me. No, I’ve got it! You can teach me before we go out! It’s much, much easier if I can feel the positions and movements first, but I can’t do that if I’m pretending I can see.’

‘Is that something you’ve done before?’ Foggy still sounded sad, which was kind of annoying since they were celebrating. Matt decided to ignore it.

‘Mmm. A little bit,’ he said. ‘I used to want to pass as sighted, you know? I’m not supposed to want that, but it would have made everything _so_ much easier – especially in high school. Wouldn’t have worked there, though. Too many screens, too many books, too much concentration needed to navigate my way through crowded, smelly, echoing spaces. Too many people who thought they knew what I was capable of. Too many people who knew my name.’

Matt sat up and wrapped his arms around his knees. Foggy was somewhere behind him to the left. He was saying something, but Matt was busy thinking.

‘I’m always in the middle, you know?’ he said. ‘Not really one thing or another… more like… like a void… avoid… a  void. Avoid the void.’ Matt laughed, but then forgot why it was funny. ‘I’m not one thing or another, but I pay attention, you know? Try to seem like all the right kinds of normal.’ He rubbed his face. He felt heavy but also like he wanted to move. His legs didn’t agree, though, so he decided to stay put. It was probably better, anyway. He needed to focus on making Foggy understand.

It occurred to him that Foggy was being really quiet. Foggy usually talked _a lot_.

‘Are you awake, Fogs?’ he asked.

‘I’m awake, Matty,’ Foggy said. ‘It’s still the middle of the day, buddy. I’m gonna hand you some water so you can have a drink, alright?’

Matt took the water bottle and placed it on the floor. It was room temperature and would definitely taste like plastic. Foggy sat down on the floor nearby and tapped Matt’s knee with his foot.

‘Drink, man,’ he said.

Matt took a sip. It was gross.

Maybe Foggy wasn’t the only one who was sad.

‘The thing is, Fogs, I keep getting it wrong, you know? And I should know better. Aside from basic technique, the worst mistake you can make when throwing a punch is failing to commit. I know that. I’ve known it forever, but I keep messing up. I can’t be normal in your world, but that only leaves one place to go – one place I should commit: Matthew Murdock, blind man. Poor brave thing! But I hate it! Not… not because of _pride_ , even though it is _really offensive_ , Foggy. But it’s not that. It’s… I don’t like faking this!’ he said. He waved his hand at his glasses even though there was nothing fake about them. He couldn’t remember where he’d left his cane. It didn’t matter. He was sure his meaning was clear. ‘I’m so much worse than Burgess and his ignorant assumptions! It’s just so… _difficult_. It shouldn’t be, but it is! I’m so privileged compared to most blind people, but instead of counting my blessings I’m dissatisfied! I’m petulant about carrying my goddamn cane around all the time; about seeking out a guide. And I’m so _tired_ of pretending that I don’t know the things I do! It’s not _my fault_ if people talk so loudly I can hear them from a block away! They’re _so_ noisy! Even their hearts are noisy. And the smells – I mean, they can be pretty bad sometimes, but they’re nuanced! _Nuuuanced!_ Do you know how much you can tell about a person from the way they smell? I do! Because I’ve been this way for almost as long as I can remember!’

The words ran out and Matt slumped. The conversation was too hard and he wasn’t getting it right. ‘I’m failing,’ he said, and maybe that was his whole point.

‘Drink some water, buddy.’

Foggy sounded like he was having a hard day. He’d had too many of those lately. Matt tried to cooperate so he could be supportive, but tilting his head back to drink made the room spin faster. Given that he could turn cartwheels on barbed wire, it shouldn’t have been a problem, but his lack of coordination caused water to run over his chin. It sparked a flare of irritation.

‘I need to do better than this,’ he said. ‘This is bull- _shit_! That’s how Stick would say it. “Bull- _shit_. Are you gonna work at it, Matty, or you gonna lie there like a pussy? Come on, kid. What kind of soldier are you gonna be?”’ Matt took a swig of water just to prove that he could. He didn’t spill any, even though his hand was shaking a little, but he tipped the bottle when he set it on the ground. Bull _shit_.  ‘The kind that let Sweeney live,’ he said. Foggy was picking up the bottle, but Matt grabbed his arm. ‘Stick would’ve killed him, you know? “No prisoners in war, kid.” Would’ve called me a pussy. Elektra… she was never a pussy. Stick would _love_ her. Would’ve kept her. Wouldn’t have dumped her sorry ass back at the orphanage. She…. But… but I did the right thing, you know? I _did_. Dad wouldn’t’ve wanted me to kill him.’

‘That’s… Matt… that’s…’ Foggy was definitely sad.

Matt focused his attention across the small gap between them. He was still holding Foggy’s arm, so he gave it a pat.

‘I’m getting a bit worried, buddy. You really don’t sound like yourself right now and I can’t work out if that’s just because whenever you’ve been drunk, I’ve been drunk, too, or maybe you’ve never been this drunk before? I just… actually, hang on.’

‘Maybe you should have a drink,’ Matt said, and squeezed Foggy’s arm again. Foggy didn’t respond, though. He just shuffled and squirmed.

‘Fogs, are you texting?’

‘Oh. Sorry. No. Googling. One sec, buddy… here it is: signs of alcohol poisoning. We’re just going to run through these for a minute, you know, just to be sure. So: cold or clammy.’ Foggy’s hand landed on Matt’s forehead. ‘Great start. Perfect. Neither cold nor clammy. Confusion… ah, you do seem a bit... hmm… yeah, not sure about that one. Moving on. You’re talking a lot, so you don’t seem to be having trouble breathing. I don’t know about pulses, but I’m pretty sure you’re conscious enough to rule out heart failure. Loss of coordination. I really don’t know how to gauge that in someone like you, buddy. I mean, are they talking relative or absolute? What’s next. You, ah, you don’t seem to have lost control of any excretory functions, which is an extra blessing for you, I’m sure.’ Foggy leaned in closer. ‘No blue tinge to lips or nails. Alright. OK. I’m going to go ahead and diagnose a frankly surprising lack of alcohol poisoning.  So, next step: food. I know you, Murdock, and there’s no way you didn’t decide lunch was superfluous. It’ll have to be something from my stash, though, because we don’t have anything else in the room and I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave you right now.’

‘It’s alright,’ Matt said, and it was. Foggy had been talking and talking, and it was such a relief. For most of the day, the inside of Matt’s head had been noisier than all the other endless things combined. ‘It’s alright,’ he repeated, because it _really_ was. ‘You can leave. I’m not ungrateful, Foggy.’ Matt patted Foggy’s face to make sure he understood. ‘And anyway, it’s not like _you’re_ leaving me with a bunch of nuns. I don’t think they’d approve of some of my choices, Fogs,’ he whispered.

‘That’s... hmm. You might be right about that, buddy. They’d probably want you to take better care of your liver, for a start.’ Foggy brushed Matt’s hair back from his eyes, which was very considerate. Matt hadn’t even noticed it had fallen forward. He smiled at Foggy to say thanks. ‘Look, Matty, I’m pretty sure your brain to mouth filter isn’t working right now and I’m not certain I want to take advantage of that. Or, like, I _really_ want to, because all kinds of possibly alarming questions are popping up in my head – but I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t. No such thing as drunk consent, and all.’

Matt smiled. ‘You’re a good person, Fogs. No wonder you ended up in law.’

‘You’re not even kidding, are you? Drink some water, buddy, alright.’

Matt did as he was told – slowly, so that everything stayed in the right place.

‘Great. Now, I have Doritos or salted peanuts. What’s it gonna be?’

Foggy was turning back from the terrible box he kept under his desk. Matt reached for the peanuts, making sure his face showed the scorn he felt for the Doritos in Foggy’s other hand. He missed the peanuts, but only by a narrow margin.

‘You’re hilarious, Murdock. Eat up, buddy. It’s far enough into the afternoon that I’m declaring it night. You’ve got some serious discomfort coming your way in the morning and we have a train to by two.’

‘But we’re going out once you’ve finished you’re… Foggy, you’ve finished your exam.’

‘I have, but don’t worry about it, man. We’ve got _so much_ holiday stretched ahead of us. You just have a handful of those nuts and a bit more water. After that, you’re slated for a chaperoned bathroom break and the full tucked-in experience.’

‘You’re _really nice_ , Fogs.’

‘You’re pretty great, too, buddy.’

Hmmmm. Buddy. Matt smiled.

‘Can we go to the bathroom, now?’ he said. ‘I’m almost certain I’m going to throw up.’

 

0  0  0

 

Foggy didn’t sleep. Partly it was because he was too invested in making sure Matt was breathing and not drowning in his own vomit – although that was unlikely since Matt had pretty much vomited up his actual stomach before Foggy managed to get him to bed. But, no: keeping an eye on Matt’s vitals was kind of incidental. The bigger stuff was… well, it was the kind of thing Foggy didn’t really want to look at head-on. And not because it was Awesome-but-Blinding like an eclipse. No. This was more of a Harrowing-Walk-Across-an-Unravelling-Rope-Bridge-Over-a-Deep-Canyon situation – pretty much impossible to deal with, no matter where he looked. Fortunately, good old cartoon wisdom told him that what he needed to do was ignore the details and take a bunch of steps. A whole lot of steps. Lots and lots of steps. Except maybe it wasn’t like that at all, because at least with the bridge thing he’d know what the next step was, and then the one after that. Bridges, even harrowing ones, were usually fairly linear. They had a natural progression built in.

Fuck.

Nope. Foggy had not slept.

He’d spent the first couple hours after Matt fell asleep, thinking through every word he could remember of Matt’s drunken ramblings, then going back over snippets of their past conversations, then looking at Matt’s general behaviour. After that, Foggy had spoken to his dad. It had felt surprisingly mature to recognise that input from an _actual adult_ was required. Because, yep. Foggy was _way_ out of his depth.

Matt had been abused.

Matt wasn’t alright.

The details were unclear, but there was enough information for Foggy to recognise that he had no knowledge of how to proceed. There was a clear difference between gossiping and seeking help.

Also, Foggy was really distressed. _He_ needed support. He’d been staring at Matt for literal hours, but every now and then he’d unexpectedly shift from _looking_ to _seeing_ , and each time that happened, the jumble of thoughts would start over.

On top of all the other traumas Matt had suffered, he’d been abused. He’d been hurt. He was still hurting. Those thoughts were followed by a compulsive survey of all the ways in which the whole thing should have been obvious all along. That took a while. Then there was the hesitantly hopeful voice of doubt, because Matt had been stupid-drunk and making almost zero sense, and surely it was nothing. But, no. It was something. Foggy just wasn’t sure _what_. Some guy had taught an apparently non-adult Matt how to fight, had called him a soldier—which, alright, a lot of guys were into that macho shit, whatever—but he’d called Matt a pussy and made him feel like he needed to hide his talents in order to be a bigger threat or something. There’d been talk of killing and war; specifically the idea that this Stick guy would approve of Matt killing someone, and that Elektra would as well. That last bit, Foggy would probably be inclined to dismiss if it wasn’t for the obvious desperation in Matt’s voice when he’d talked about doing the right thing. That… that had made it sound like something that had actually happened – or _not_ happened, if Foggy had understood. But what kind of abuse could make someone sound so shaken, so ashamed of their desire not to kill?

Nope. It just never sounded less insane, no matter how many times his mind tried to tiptoe up to it.

He must have misunderstood.

But then, what would it take to train a blind kid—even one with Matt’s abilities—to fight like he could. Who’d do it, and why?

Foggy was no expert but, after watching Matt’s workout, he’d done some googling. He knew that Matt’s moves were way beyond some kind of carefully choreographed Karate Kid mash up. Matt had said he’d continued practising even after he’d stopped formal training, but how would a blind guy develop that much technique while working alone? Surely most of it must have come from the earlier training, which meant that this _Stick_ was pretty seriously invested in making young Matt as dangerous as possible.

Oh, god, what if it was some bizarre cage fighting racket? Or… Or… Uh…

Foggy rubbed his hands over his face.

One step at a time.

Today they were going home.


	8. Hide or go Seek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a brief reference to suicide and suicidal ideation. None of the characters are suicidal or become suicidal throughout the story.

Meeting the Nelsons hadn’t been anything like Matt had expected. Upon reflection, that was inevitable.  He realised, half way through dinner the first night, that he’d been imagining older versions of Foggy. Ed and Anna were welcoming and friendly but didn’t seem to be anywhere near as exuberant as their son. It was a relief, given that Matt hadn’t completely shaken off the effects of the previous day’s stupidity.

Even with the lingering headache and muscle fatigue, though, it was comfortable to sit back and watch the way the Nelsons calmly courted and supported Foggy’s obvious excitement at being home. It was pleasant in its own right, but also because Foggy had been subdued since waking Matt that morning. Matt had tried to apologise for messing up their evening plans and also for the way he’d behaved, but Foggy had been quiet and careful in return. He hadn’t seemed angry, but he also hadn’t indulged in giving Matt grief like he would have if everything was fine.

Fortunately, being with his family seemed to bring Foggy back to something closer to his usual self. He singlehandedly regaled them with dramatic, highly exaggerated tales of impossible deadlines, evil professors, and endless hours virtuously engaged in study. He made Matt blush more than once by insisting that Ed and Anna should fully appreciate Matt’s success at “keeping their wayward child on the righteous path towards facilitating state sanctioned, institutionalised justice”. It was far from true, but Matt smiled through his discomfort. If Foggy was ready to include Matt in his hyperbole then, chances were, things would be normal between them by morning. Matt answered some fairly neutral questions about undergrad and Columbia but, mostly, Ed and Anna seemed content to let Foggy hold the floor.

Anna excused herself soon after they’d finished eating. She was a medical receptionist at a busy oncology department, and worked a fortnightly rotation of early starts and late finishes. For the rest of the week she’d be leaving the apartment by six am. She placed a hand on Matt’s shoulder as she rounded the table, pausing to tell him that she was glad he’d come. Before Matt could respond, Anna had moved on. She stopped to ruffle Foggy’s hair and make a loud kissing sound against his head.

Ed pulled Matt’s attention away from their interaction.

‘Do you enjoy movies, Matt? The reason I ask is because I watched one with the audio description turned on a couple nights ago, just to see what it was like, and it was inconceivably bad,’ he said.

‘They usually are, and mostly I avoid them. I don’t mind movies if they’re based on a story I already know. Sometimes historical dramas are alright, as long as they’re fairly accurate to the version of history I’m familiar with. Then I can get by with minimal description from-’

‘Minimal! My _lavish_ descriptions aren’t minimal, Murdock!’ Foggy said. Matt hadn’t noticed Anna leaving.

‘Fogs, we both know you stray towards social commentary more than description, but fine, what little description you remember to provide is abundantly lavish. To answer your question, though, Ed, I don’t really enjoy movies with the stilted formal audio, no.’

‘I honestly can’t imagine anyone does,’ Ed said. There was nothing apologetic or pitying in his tone. ‘Do you play Scrabble?’

‘Yes,’ Matt said, at the same time as Foggy groaned.

‘Noooooo. Oh my god, why didn’t I see this coming? This is a disaster. Do you know why there’s only one Rabbit in the Hundred Acre Woods? Because if there were two, they’d sit around playing Scrabble all day! “The rules! The rules! We must play by the rules!” It can’t possibly be a word if it’s not in the dictionary, no matter how many bajillion people are using it.’

‘And that would make you Tigger, I suppose?’ Ed said.

‘Hell yeah!’ Foggy started singing some ridiculous song – possibly ad lib.

‘Not really,’ Matt argued. He addressed himself to Ed while Foggy practically bounced in his chair. ‘I mean, he’s a bit like Tigger, but I think he’s more like Pooh: good natured, generous, caring, friendly… prone to saying odd things that end up making a lot of sense,’ he added, then felt uncomfortable about it. He could feel the prickle of heat at his neck, but weeks of overhearing awful comments about Foggy had caused Matt to compile an endless defence in his head. Expressing it here was probably a better outlet than fighting every idiot on campus would be. Maybe.

‘That, he does. He’s a good boy.’ Ed sounded proud.

Somewhere along the way, Foggy had stopped singing. ‘I… ah, I’m-’ he began. His voice was tight before the words trailed off. It grabbed Matt’s attention and he tried to tune in more carefully. ‘I’m tired,’ Foggy said, and it was a lie – no heartbeat necessary, because it was in his voice. ‘I’m going to head up to bed.’

‘Should I come too?’ Matt asked. They weren’t sharing a room, but it would give Foggy a chance to let Matt know if he’d done something wrong.

‘Actually, Matt, I was wondering if you’d help me in the kitchen. We’ve put some Braille labels on the controls for the oven and microwave and such, but I thought it might be a good idea if I showed you around in there. Putting the dishes away should help you get a feel for where everything is, right?’

‘Sure. That would be useful, thanks.’ Matt kind of expected Foggy to object to him being put to work on the first night of his visit—not that Matt minded at all—but Foggy said nothing about it. He’d stood up from the table while they were talking, and was standing behind Ed’s chair.

‘Goodnight, Dad,’ he said, and gave Ed a hug that lasted a while. It ended with a faint kiss, probably against Ed’s hair. ‘Matt, I’ll be in my room if you want to come in when you’re done. Otherwise I’ll see you in the morning. You, ah, you remember where everything is, right?’

‘Of course,’ Matt said. ‘I’ll see you when I come up.’

‘Goodnight, sunshine,’ Ed said. ‘It’s good to have you home.’

That prompted another hug from Foggy before he left the room.

 

Ed gave Matt the general rundown of the kitchen, checked that the additional labelling was clear and useful, and then got to work washing the dishes. Matt dried them and stacked them on the bench beside the sink. Handling the dishes confirmed what he’d suspected while they ate: everyone’s khao pad gai had been served in a bowl, and each of them had been provided with a spoon as well as a knife and fork. All of the water glasses had heavy, wide bases.

‘They’re from Mexico,’ Ed said, as Matt picked one of them up to dry. ‘Anna bought them online the day after Candi turned ten. She’d decided it was the magical milestone where cheap glassware or plastic was no longer necessary. She broke one against the edge of the sink the first time she washed them up,’ Ed said, with a laugh, ‘but we still have the other five. They have a greenish tint to them, darker at the bottom where the glass is heaviest. The irregularities in the sides are tiny air bubbles. They’re meant to be there, apparently.’

Matt was touched. ‘I won’t be offended if you serve my meal in a bowl and yours on a plate,’ he offered. ‘Plates are fine for some things, but bowls are easier for others. It depends on the meal.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ Ed said. ‘I always use these bowls for stir fry, but I did choose the meal because I thought it would simplify things.’

‘Thank you. It was lovely.’

‘It’s not a problem, Matt. You’re welcome here, and part of that is working out what makes things harder for you, and what makes things easier. We’d do that for any guest.’

Matt could hear that it was the truth, and didn’t let himself dwell on all the unnecessary adjustments the Nelsons were likely making on his behalf.

‘What colour are the bowls?’ he asked. It didn’t matter to him, but he wanted Ed to know that he’d appreciated the information about the glasses.

‘They’re green as well, although Anna insists they’re closer to a murky brown. But then she also thinks my favourite blue shirt is aqua and my black pullover is navy. It’s strange how that happens. I used to think she was just pushing my buttons.’

‘Feel free to tell her I agree with you. The bowls are definitely green.’

‘Exactly!’ Ed said. ‘Oh. Right.’ He’d finished washing, and turned to lean against the sink while the water emptied.

Matt kept drying. Ed was watching him, and the moment became increasingly uncomfortable. The water gurgled in the drain.

‘You’re an interesting young man, Matt,’ he said. ‘I know we’ve just met, but I want to ask you something. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.’

‘Alright,’ Matt said. He’d suspected there was an ulterior motive behind the invitation to help with the dishes, though he had no idea what it could be.

‘How’s Foggy really doing? At Columbia, I mean. He hasn’t said much, but he’s sounded more stressed since… well, since he came home for break, and we’re worried.’

That was not anything Matt would have predicted. ‘I… maybe you should talk to him,’ he said.

‘You’re right, and we will, of course.’ Ed let out a long breath. ‘I should have started this differently. Last time he was home, Foggy talked to Anna and me about… well, about how he doesn’t feel comfortable with being a man. I can’t say I fully understand, but we love our kid and we support him. I wouldn’t bring it up, but he’s told us that you know and that you’ve been respectful and kind. We’re so grateful for that, but we’re worried that he’s being given a hard time. There were some incidents at high school, and I know he’s not a child any more but we just want to be sure that he’s not struggling. Kids like Foggy, they can slap a smile over anything and make you believe their world is sunshine and rainbows. I’ve seen him do it more than once. The thing is, I don’t want to lose him and spend the rest of my life wondering why I didn’t see the signs. It’s so hard with him living away from home. You see him every day, though, and I’m not trying to make it your responsibility, but I wondered if you had any idea how he really is.’

Matt put down the bowl he’d been drying. ‘Do you really think that’s a thing Foggy would do?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. I want to say no, but so does every parent.’

‘Foggy’s amazing.’

‘Yes. He is. That doesn’t make people indestructible, though. Look, I’m sorry, Matt. I shouldn’t have brought this up.’

‘No, it’s fine. I… I grew up in residential care and the occasional foster placement. I know these things happen.’ Matt took a moment to gather his thoughts, and found himself comparing Foggy to the kids he’d known. ‘I really don’t think you need to worry about Foggy like that. Things aren’t perfect, and sometimes he’s stressed, but I’m not the only friend he has. I think he gets along with everyone on our floor – probably with most of our dorm.’ Matt decided not to mention the counsellor, because Ed hadn’t.

‘That sounds like my sunshine,’ Ed said. He grabbed a spare tea towel and picked up a pan. ‘How ‘bout we get finished here so you can go see what the demon unicorn is up to.’

Matt was glad for the change of tone. ‘That’s a new one. He told me he’s a cross between a shark and a Labrador.’

‘Eh, the hybridising started when he was young. Choose anything sweet and bubbly then combine it with something vaguely terrifying, and that’s our Foggy.’

Matt smiled at the affection in Ed’s voice. ‘And what about Candi?’ he asked.

‘Hmm…. She’s more of an unstoppable force than a particular creature. Foggy insisted, once, that he’d created a nickname for her in interpretive dance. It was hilarious. You should get him to show you.’

Matt wasn’t bothered, but he didn’t make a joke of it. He just waited for Ed to catch up.

Ed sighed. ‘Am I worse at this than most people, or do you put up with this all the time?’

‘The people who never forget are the ones who act like it’s the most defining aspect of who I am. They also tend to be impressed with themselves for being so aware.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. I notice you didn’t say if I’m being particularly slow.’

‘It’s fine. Honestly, I’m never offended by genuine mistakes. There’s no time limit where it begins to be a problem.’

‘I can see why my son likes you, Matt.’

Matt held back his smile and picked up a glass. ‘Top left?’ he said, gesturing vaguely with his free hand.

 

When he woke the following morning, Matt could tell that the worst of the toxic cocktail of flavours, sweeteners and propylene glycol was out of his system. Foggy had sounded sceptical the previous day when Matt had tried to argue that not all of the ill effects had been from intoxication, but it was true. Of course, _most_ of them had been.

It had been a long time since Matt had been that drunk. He’d liked it. Not the after-effects or the fact that he’d let Foggy down, but the vague blurry edges and the sense of intentionally losing his grip. Matt had come to realise, post-Elektra, that the experience of falling, both literal and metaphoric, was something he’d been flirting with for years. The idea should be repellent, but it wasn’t.

Recently, though, there were too many times that felt less like the thrill of freefall, and more like a poorly executed tumble. Things were changing, and Matt felt like he was nothing but elbows and knees. Elektra had thrown him off balance. The high of being with her—of falling with her—had been the most exhilarating time he’d ever known, but it wasn’t until after she left that the true significance of their entanglement began to twist in his gut: Elektra knew about his senses, about his abilities, and the world didn’t fall apart. Matt hadn’t realised that he’d thought it would, but something had kept him from ever telling, even when it put impossible strain on his relationships. Something had made him feel wrong about even _wanting_ to talk about it.

Someone. Someone had.

_Good with the bad_ , Matt reminded himself: without Stick, he wouldn’t be where he was now.

But maybe it was time to re-examine some things. Telling Foggy had definitely been a good move. It was fun, because Foggy was geared towards fun, but it was also practical and sensible. It allowed Matt to be as self-sufficient as possible within his own home. It allowed him to be stronger.

So maybe the changes weren’t smooth, but they were good.

Drinking like that, though…. Matt knew, despite the fact that he and Foggy weren’t talking about it, that he’d been a mess. It wasn’t productive, no matter how pleasant the release. He could choose to do better. It had been an intense semester but the break would be an opportunity to refocus. Once he was back in summer housing, his days could be structured around meditation, training, the routine transcription work he picked up every summer, and reading in preparation for next term. “Self-discipline, kid. If _you’re_ not calling the shots, then who do you think will be?” Fortunately, Stick had drilled meditation like it was a combat manoeuvre, and Matt knew his focus was solid. In the past eleven years or so, he’d probably spent as much time in the lotus position as his grandmother had spent on her knees. Maybe, once Saint Agnes’ was far enough in the past, Matt would try to balance his tally.

For now, he sat on the floor and began to control his breathing, accompanied by the soft sounds of Anna beginning her day.

 

By the time Matt got up to stretch and shower, Ed had left for work. Foggy was in the kitchen, rattling dishes and singing under his breath. The smell of decent coffee was heavy in the air. Matt rushed through his routine and headed downstairs.

It was odd to feel the way the presence of all the Nelsons lingered even though there was no one home. It was even stranger to realise that Foggy _was_ at home here. In Matt’s mind, Foggy was a creature of cramped, generic living spaces, just like he was.

‘You’re cooking?’ he said, as he walked into the kitchen.

‘Good morning to you, too, my floopy haired friend! And yes! _I_ am making the best waffles you’ve ever tasted.’

‘Good morning, Foggy,’ Matt said, with flawlessly performed solicitude. Then he smiled. ‘You’re chipper.’

‘I’m home. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t want to live here all the time, but… eh. It’s kind of nice to land somewhere comfortable every now and then, you know?’

Matt didn’t. ‘That makes sense,’ he said. ‘So, waffles? Anything I can do?’

‘Not this time, thanks. Just sit yourself down and be impressed. Ooh, actually, grab two mugs from the cupboard first, and I’ll pour the coffee.’

Breakfast was really good: fresh strawberries and banana on perfectly crisp waffles, rich coffee, and the absence of hundreds of students in varying states of crisis. Matt and Foggy spent the morning overanalysing their recent exams, predicting the likely success or failure of their year mates, constructing elaborate models for overhauling both the education and legal systems, and gradually letting the lack of deadlines settle under their skins.

They were sprawled in the lounge, their conversation drifting, when Foggy sat forward in his chair with more energy than the action warranted. Matt was familiar with the motion. It usually arose from too many hours spent staring at a textbook.

Foggy slapped both hands on his knees and took a deep breath. ‘New challenge, Murdock,’ he said. ‘Your super-powered self against my home-game advantage. Hide and go seek, played against the clock. You get bonus hiding time, obviously, because I already know all the amazing spots, but when it’s my turn to hide, you have to bamboozle your super hearing with terrible 80’s electronic so you don’t track me before you even begin. You can turn the music off when you start seeking. Looser makes lunch. Those are my terms.’

Matt pulled himself upright. Hide and go seek? Seriously? He must have played as a child, but he couldn’t remember for sure. ‘80’s electronica?’ he said, while he let the idea settle. ‘What did I do to make you hate me?’

‘Aw, I don’t hate you, buddy. Fine, the genre’s negotiable.’

‘That’s good to know. Thanks, Fog. I guess, in the interest of sportsmanship, I should point out that Electronica might work for blocking out speech, and also destroying my will to live, but something with a thumping base has a better chance of covering footfalls and doors.’

‘Better _chance_?’

Matt smirked.

‘I’m gonna be making lunch, aren’t I?’

Foggy made sandwiches. The one he made for Matt had just the right balance of mustard, roast beef, lettuce and tomato. He’d made himself egg salad, but the mayo was store bought, so Matt declined.


	9. Holding on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a second chapter because I didn't want to frustrate anyone with the apparent back-step from the gravity of Matt's revelation. Also, I've been getting more writing done lately, so I'm managing to keep a few chapters ahead.

Over the next few days they played increasingly outlandish games of hide and go seek. Matt found Foggy’s efforts to manipulate conditions to his own advantage hilarious. Matt was agile, strong and compact, which made him good at hiding in unexpected—and improbable—places. Without significant audio distortion he was able to pinpoint the neighbours in their apartments and the people out walking on the street. Locating Foggy was almost instinctive and took no effort at all. Also, Matt was faster at moving through the apartment. Trying to come up with restrictions that posed a challenge but didn’t take away Matt’s ability to navigate the space was tough, but Foggy wasn’t a quitter.

Fortunately, he was a good cook.

Matt was pretty decent in the kitchen as well, but despite offers to help out, it was always Ed or Anna who prepared the evening meal. They seemed genuinely happy to do so – with Anna insisting that “you boys have earned a rest”. It didn’t sit comfortably with Matt, coming from someone who worked the hours she did. Since that first night, he hadn’t even been allowed to help with the after-dinner cleanup. He tried to take comfort in the fact that Foggy seemed unfazed. Apparently it was a Nelson family tradition for the first week of break to be a true holiday. It was a shame, then, that Ed and Anna couldn’t know about the games of hide and go seek. Obvious issues aside, they would probably have been delighted.

Ed’s idea of games was more sedate than Foggy’s, though. On the second night, he’d produced an accessible Scrabble set and invited Matt to play.

The first game had been a little uncomfortable. Matt was embarrassed that they’d gone to the trouble and expense of buying something like that just for his short visit. He also wasn’t sure if he should hold back or really apply himself, and at the same time wondered if Ed would assume he should go easy on the blind guy.

Once Matt realised that he and Ed were fairly well matched, though, he relaxed and began to enjoy himself. The more they played, the more he noticed how much Foggy took after his dad. Ed was playfully competitive, had a broad vocabulary, and was good at spotting opportunities to force an advantage. He was also a companionable player, never making Matt feel like the competition was more important than the enjoyment of the game. Between turns they talked about current events, local politics, law, and the legal profession. Like Foggy, Ed seemed genuinely satisfied with Matt’s successes as well as his own.

The one time Anna joined them, Matt found she was the kind of player who knew all the strange little words that made use of tight spaces and congested bonus squares. She didn’t seem to care about winning, or even keeping score, but clearly loved the intricacy of the puzzle. She was apparently intrigued by Matt’s ability to hold a fairly reliable layout of the game in his mind, though she made an effort not to say too much about it.

Foggy didn’t play. That wasn’t surprising given that the game was antithetical to both his enjoyment of language and his sense of fun. He didn’t seem bothered by Matt taking up Ed’s time, though, and seemed happy to spend his evenings watching movies or hanging out in his room. That was probably good since he and Matt were spending a lot of time together every day.

On Friday night, almost a week after they’d arrived, Foggy made plans to meet up with some college friends he hadn’t seen in a while. He was sincere when he said that Matt was welcome to join them, but Matt declined. Being the only stranger in a group of reminiscing friends was unlikely to be enjoyable.

It threw Matt a little when he found out that Anna had plans as well. Her fortnight of early starts had ended and she had a couple days off before her new roster began, so she was having dinner and drinks with a friend. Ed assured Matt that it was a regular occurrence, and not one that he ever tagged along for.

After Foggy and Anna left for the evening, Ed invited Matt to help prepare dinner. They decided on chicken wraps, but then Ed hesitated.

‘What, ah, which part of this process can I give you?’

‘I’d rather make the salsa,’ Matt said. He couldn’t detect any kitchen gloves, and he hated the smell of raw meat lingering on his skin. Onion would be marginally better.

While they cooked and ate, Ed talked about his extended family. The anecdotes were interesting enough—though they lacked Foggy’s quirks and tangents—but they also provided Matt with a schema of names and connections. Matt realised, half way through their meal, that Ed was doing it deliberately. He assumed Matt would meet these people, and wanted to help him get his bearings. Matt remembered Foggy insisting that the Nelsons had staying power. Five days after meeting Foggy’s parents, the idea seemed less fanciful than it had.

Matt assumed they’d play Scrabble after dinner, but instead of taking down the board, Ed suggested they move to the lounge. He didn’t sound as relaxed as he generally did, and Matt was wary. He understood why Ed had asked about Foggy that first night, but there wasn’t much more he could offer. He didn’t want to share details that weren’t his to provide, and he wasn’t sure they’d be of much help anyway.

It occurred to him that Foggy hadn’t gone to any trouble with his appearance since they’d been at the house. It was possible that Ed and Anna had never experienced the calm certainty—far deeper than any momentary stress—that had become the base note of Foggy’s character on days when he braced himself before walking out the door. Maybe if Matt could express the way Foggy’s spine straightened and his steps landed more firmly, the way his breath sank to his abdomen instead of staying caught up in his chest, the way he sat differently and moved differently, the way that, under the sweet scent of hair product, Foggy smelled different as well…

Matt settled on the lounge. Ed had taken the nearby armchair and was leaning forward, forearms braced on his thighs. He wasn’t a fidgety man, but his fingers swept loosely together in a steady rhythm.

‘Being a father is the most important thing that’s ever happened in my life,’ he said. ‘I love Anna, of course, and our marriage is a good one, but if she wasn’t happy, if she needed to leave, I’d understand. It would hurt but I’d move on. Becoming a parent, though… it shapes every single moment of your life. There’s no other connection like it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying it’s not hard work at times. There’s nothing magical about loving your child that makes you suddenly know what you’re doing. Being a parent doesn’t make you free of frustration, tiredness, or even the plain selfish desire to do whatever the hell you please. But even when you’re feeling those things, you’re still a dad. You want your kid happy, safe and well. You want the world to be kind to them, and you don’t want anyone to do them wrong.’

Ed’s hands stilled and Matt could tell that he was being watched. There was nothing he could say, though, so he waited.

Ed took a heavy breath. ‘You’re dad isn’t here, and he hasn’t been here for a long time. I’m sorry about that. I know it doesn’t change anything, but I am. I’m sorry for all the things he missed out on, because you’re an amazing young man. But more than that, I’m sorry that he wasn’t there to protect you. I know it’s not his fault. I’m not talking about blame. But that doesn’t change the fact that he couldn’t be there for you when someone hurt you.’

This wasn’t where the conversation was supposed to go. Matt jumped up without thinking, but then froze, torn between walking out and arguing that Ed was wrong.

Ed stood as well. ‘Matt, hey, it’s alright. It’s alright. Listen, Foggy talked to me the night before you came here. He didn’t go into too much detail, but he said he was worried about you – about some things you’d said, some things he’d observed.’

Matt started moving towards the door. It was hard to take a breath and the room around him was distorted. He didn’t have his cane.

‘He cares about you, Matt.’ Ed was in the way. ‘ _I_ care about you,’ he said. ‘I care that someone hurt you. Foggy said you called him Stick?’

Matt’s hands tightened into fists. ‘It was a long time ago. He didn’t hurt me. He helped me.’ The words were forced out in chunks.

‘Sweetheart… it doesn’t matter how long ago it was.’

Matt cringed. He couldn’t breathe and Ed sounded so fucking sympathetic.

‘I want to go to bed.’ Matt didn’t know what he wanted.

‘Of course. Just give me a minute.’

Ed was still in the way.

Matt could push past him if he wanted. ‘Move,’ he said, and it came out like a challenge.

‘Matt.’

‘What!’ Matt was panting and his head was swimming.

Ed held out his arms, but Matt wasn’t going to acknowledge that he could tell.

‘Can I give you a hug?’ Ed asked, and for some terrible reason _that_ was harder to ignore. Matt found himself walking forward and leaning against Ed’s chest, not offering anything, but letting Ed’s arms close around him. He felt them tighten, then lost track as he buried his face against Ed’s neck and began to shout.

There wasn’t enough air for all the anger. Matt’s breathing stuttered and gasped while he twisted one hand in the rough fabric of Ed’s shirt. The other hand curled tighter and thumped against Ed’s chest. ‘Let me go,’ Matt said, but the words were caught up in jagged exhalations.

‘It’s alright, sweetheart. Just stay for a bit,’ Ed said. His grip on Matt tightened some more, and Matt let himself collapse into it. He needed to catch his breath.

They stood that way for a while, Matt’s hand cramping from the strength of its grip on Ed’s shirt, his breath shuddering between impotent sounds, then Ed’s hold shifted and he began running his fingers through Matt’s hair. Eventually, Matt’s breathing slowed.

‘How old were you?’ Ed asked.

There was no point pretending not to understand the question. ‘Almost twelve when we began. He was gone before I turned thirteen.’

‘Hmm. Eleven, then. And Stick was some kind of teacher or instructor or something, right?’

‘Yeah,’ Matt said. Something like that – or nothing like it. He’d never really known what part Stick was trying to play. That had been made abundantly clear. ‘Look, the guy was a bit of a jerk. I know he was. It doesn’t mean he didn’t teach me things I needed to know.’

Ed pulled back, possibly trying to make eye contact. His hands rested heavily on Matt’s shoulders.

‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘I have some customers who are jerks. Hell, I even have the odd family member I’m not too fond of. The thing is, none of them have any real power over me. That’s not true when you’re eleven and dealing with an adult who’s supposed to be looking out for you.’

‘He was _helping_ me! My dad told me once that a perfectly landed fist to the jaw is the best teacher you can get. No amount of instruction’ll show you the flaws in your defence as clearly as the bruises when you fail.’

‘Are you saying Stick hit you, Matt?’

Matt wanted to walk away. He wanted Ed to close the distance between them. He didn’t want to be seen.

‘Not like that. He taught me self-defence. He used martial arts to teach me how to move safely because I _can’t see_!’

‘According to Foggy, he called you names, put you down, told you that if you didn’t do things his way, you were worthless. Tried to goad you into violence. Did he hit you, Matt?’

‘Of course! He trained me. You can’t learn these things without practise!’

‘Why were you learning them at all?’

‘I told you! He taught me things I needed to know.’

‘I see.’ Ed spoke softly, with no inflection in his voice. ‘And was there ever any sexual aspect to this training, Matt?’

‘No! Of course not!’ Matt turned away and began to pace. ‘If anything, it was the opposite. Stick has no tolerance for relationships or hormones; distractions, he calls them.’

‘Alright,’ Ed said. ‘Thank you for telling me.’

‘Stop treating me like I’m a frightened child! I’m not broken! I’m not fragile!’

‘I know that, sweetheart. I’m treating you like I’d treat one of my own, and neither of them are fragile or broken either.’

‘You didn’t seem so sure about Foggy the night we arrived! Or was that some strange attempt to bond with the poor abused disabled guy?!’ Matt gave a desperate laugh. ‘Was the whole invitation to come here some feel-good effort to do your bit for the little victim?’ He hadn’t cried before now, but angry tears were beginning to flow. He reached under his glasses to brush them away.

‘Matthew. Enough.’

The tone was forceful and jarring. Matt stilled and tuned in to Ed’s body, his posture, his position in the room.

Neither of them moved for a long moment, then Ed took a deep breath and sat himself on the couch. ‘Please.’ He held out a hand.

Matt ignored it, but sat on the couch anyway – perched on the edge at the furthest end. He felt numb and unfocused. It didn’t make sense that the night had ended up like this.

‘I didn’t talk to you about Foggy for any other reason than that I get scared for my son. The world can be hard enough when you blend in, and you know Foggy... he’s never done anything but stand out. Crazy thing is, I adore him for it. But I still do my share of lying in bed at night imagining the worst. I should trust that he’d talk to me if he wasn’t alright, but fear isn’t a rational thing—especially when it comes to your child—so I asked your opinion. There was nothing more to it than that. And you weren’t invited here as some pity project. You were invited because Foggy clearly enjoys your company, and because he mentioned that you were going to be staying on campus otherwise. We like having guests. We like a full house. Beyond that, I didn’t expect to be so selfishly glad you’re here, but I am. I like you, Matt, and the more I get to know you the less I worry about my son being away from home.

‘All of that is separate from the fact that last week you got very drunk in the middle of the day and said some things that made Foggy concerned. You talked about being expected to kill someone, and about being ridiculed for not doing it.’

Fuck. That caught Matt’s attention. If he’d talked about Sweeney, what else might he have said? And why was he even _thinking_ about that piece of shit? It had taken a while, but he’d had put the whole incident with Elektra’s little _surprise_ firmly behind him.

‘I was drunk and rambling,’ he said. It was the truth, but he gave it more weight than it was worth.

‘Very drunk, not long after noon. That might be normal for some students, but Foggy assures me it’s not normal for you.’

‘It was a difficult semester.’

‘I know there are things Foggy’s not telling me, Matt. He’s trying to respect your privacy while still making sure you’re alright, but that means I don’t know how concerned I should be.’

‘You shouldn’t be concerned at all.’

‘I am, though.’

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged Foggy into this. I shouldn’t have upset him.’

‘This isn’t about Foggy, sweetheart. I’m concerned for _you_. It’s normal for a boy to want to  live up to the expectations of a man he respects, even if it means doing or being something that makes him uncomfortable – even if he needs to pretend to be tougher than a child should be. You’re a good kid, Matt, and I’m sure you did your best, but I’m concerned for all the times when no one was there for you, when no one protected you. I’m sad that an eleven year old boy was left to deal with so much on his own.’

It was too much. Matt pushed a hand against his mouth and took deep breaths through his nose. Once he was sure of his response, he pulled his hand away.

‘I’m tired,’ he said.

‘I’m sure you are. Why don’t you rest here, and I’ll make us some tea?’

‘I’d….’ He was going to say that he’d rather go to his room, but it wasn’t true. He didn’t know what he wanted, but that wasn’t it. ‘Alright,’ he said. ‘Thanks. Thank you.’

Ed detoured on his way to the kitchen, pausing to brush Matt’s hair from his forehead. ‘I wish I’d been there, kiddo,’ he said. It was ridiculous. The Nelsons wouldn’t have been able to deal with Matt’s sensory meltdowns any better than the nuns had, and Ed certainly wouldn’t have been able to take on Stick. Matt let himself slump against the back of the lounge, and refused to think about it.


	10. Mundane and Magical

Breakfast was uncomfortable. Foggy had slept late and been woken by his mom calling him down to eat. Matt was already sitting at the table. He’d been in bed when Foggy got home the previous night, and this morning he seemed a little withdrawn – or maybe that was Foggy’s imagination. Matt was being his usual polite and attentive self, but there seemed to be something brittle about it. Anger, Foggy supposed. Betrayal, maybe. His dad hadn’t gone into detail, but Foggy was sure _the conversation_ hadn’t been an easy one.

He knew, rationally, that he hadn’t done the wrong thing, but his heart was a spineless flip-flopper. It was clearing its throat and waving its arms and pretty much screaming at him to get on his knees and beg for Matt’s forgiveness.

‘I’ve got to head down to the store for a while. There’s some paperwork to sign off on and a couple crates of new stock to look over. I was planning on taking Matt along with me to show him around.’

‘Dad,’ Foggy said. Nelson’s Hardware was his father’s eldest child, and one that he had a right to be proud of, but it was hardly the time to drag Matt into an unknown environment with nothing to do.

‘I’d like that. Thank you, Ed.’

Aaannd Matt sounded like he meant it. Huh.

‘That’s a lovely idea. Foggy, does that mean I can steal you away for lunch and maybe a bit of shopping? I feel like I’ve hardly seen you since you got home.’

Foggy rubbed his hands over his face. Maybe he needed to chill a little. ‘Yeah, of course, Mom. That’d be great. You sure, though, buddy? We could walk over to the store another day if you’d rather join us for lunch.’

‘It’s fine. I’d like to check out the store. You should spend some time with your mom.’

Matt didn’t sound resentful or angry. If anything he maybe looked a little shy – which made total sense because Matthew Michael Murdock was a conundrum.

‘Well, if you’re sure,’ Foggy said. ‘Fair warning, though: you’re signing up for the kind of hardware puns that no true comedian would take out of their toolbox. I’m on the level. Dad absolutely has a screw loose when it comes to that place.’

Matt did that adorable little furrowed-brow-and-head-tilt combination. ‘Foggy, that was awful,’ he said. ‘Honestly, if you thought that wood cut it, you’re nuts.’

‘Hmm. That was acceptable for a newbie to hardware puns, buddy, but you didn’t exactly nail it-’

‘Boys.’

It was said in unison, because his parents were accomplished at speaking in stereo.

Foggy took a deep breath. He stood up, gathered his dishes and directed his feet towards the kitchen while counting to ten. He got to six.

‘I need to head up and shower,’ he said. ‘Let me know when you’re ready to go, Mom.’

Matt got up to follow, but Foggy hurried his steps. It probably made him a jerk; the fact that he was willing to take advantage of Matt’s need to move carefully if he wanted to maintain his pretence.

0  0  0

Foggy hadn’t realised how much he’d missed shopping with his mom. Anna Nelson understood that the goal wasn’t acquisition. It was about spending time in places packed with the weird and wonderful outpourings of the human imagination! On top of that, she instinctively structured shopping trips like most people constructed playlists.

So far they’d wound their way through tiny, dim bookstores; a plant store that smelled like a forest inside – alright, that was conjecture, it had been far too long for Foggy to remember for sure; an actual apothecary, complete with little wooden drawers filled with all sorts of shrivelled things; a yarn store that made him want to shear some fluffy creature and adorn himself with woven garments made from its wild and woolly fuzz; a candy store that had the best kind of reggae playing somewhere out back; and another book store – this one huge and smelling like new paper and binding glue, but which had Dvorak’s Opus 104 playing so loudly that Foggy could feel the cello’s resonance in his sternum. It legit brought tears to his eyes, and he’d stood in the middle of the store, transported, while people all around him contemplated the latest best sellers and self-help guides. It was perfect. Beautiful.

On the consumer front, Foggy’s attention had been caught by a pair of shiny red joggers in the window of a shoe store. Fate? Fortune? Random chance? Who was Foggy to say _no_ to any of these? Also, because they were by the counter, some improbably arcane-looking purple and green striped knee socks. They were the kind that had separate toes!

Not long after that, his mom had come away from a crowded record store clutching three new albums – one of which was a _polka_. When Foggy had expressed a totally healthy amount of appropriate scorn, she’d had the audacity to dismiss his judgement on account of the socks! She’d even cast subtle aspersions on his awesome ruby runners! After a brief tussle—which he definitely would have won—he decided to magnanimously forgive her lack of style. After all, she’d been right. Not about the polka vs socks debacle—that argument was a travesty—but they definitely hadn’t spent enough time together since he’d been home.

For lunch they stumbled into a Lebanese café.

They were sipping strong coffee and waiting on their food when his mom made a face. It was one of her more _parental_ ones.

‘Are we going to talk about it?’ she asked.

Foggy sighed. Talk. Right. ‘Just call me Donkey,’ he said. Sadly, his ability to outwait Matt’s silences had probably been acquired through osmosis, given his mom’s ability to outwait her eldest’s bullshit and diversions. It didn’t prevent him from trying. ‘You know – from Shrek? “Donkey, you have the right to remain silent.” We both know what I _lack_ is the capacity.’ He’d totally nailed the accent, but his awesome performance was met with a look that was equal parts affection, sympathy, and _are you done yet?_ Fine. It was fine. ‘I don’t like it when you and dad call me a boy. Not because of the child thing. I wouldn’t like it any better if you called me a man. Mostly, though, I’m annoyed with _myself_ because it’s stupid how uncomfortable it makes me.’

‘It’s never stupid to realise that something makes you uncomfortable. When was the last time anyone in our family called you Franklin? You don’t like it, so we don’t do it. Simple.’

‘Well, yeah, but _Franklin_ ,’ he said. ‘It would’ve been bad enough even if Rosalind hadn’t chosen it. Given that she did-’

‘ _Sweetheart_.’

‘Right. Sorry. I just… I thought I had things worked out better than this. I’m seeing a counsellor at Columbia, or I was. We finished up a while back.’

‘That’s great, hon! Why didn’t you tell us?’

‘Because last time I saw one things were kind of intense, and I know you and Dad were worried. This wasn’t like that. I just had some things I needed to work through. It’s been good.’

‘Well, I’m glad. We want whatever’s best for you, sweetheart. Whatever you need, just let us know.’

‘Thanks, Mom.’ Foggy looked around the room. The place was long and narrow, so there wasn’t much natural light. The furnishings were kind of hodgepodge but in a good way. If this conversation had to happen, it could happen here. ‘It’s just…’ he began, then made himself commit. ‘Sometimes I don’t notice something’s bothering me until the exact moment it’s hitting me in the face, you know? And then I don’t want to say anything because... actually, I don’t know why I don’t say anything. Because I know you mean well? Because I don’t want to hurt you? Because it shouldn’t matter? The changes I’m making are for me. I don’t _need_ anyone else to validate them. But then you or Dad say _one_ uncomfortable word and, for a moment, I’m back to being that confused and secretive teenager. It’s like I forget who I am.’

‘Well, first of all, you’re my duckling.’ There was so much uncomplicated affection in it, carried on a wave of play-doh-and-fairy-bread-tinged nostalgia. ‘But more than that, you’re intelligent, sensitive, and incredibly kind. You’re your father’s sunshine. There are lots of things we call you, Foggy. You can tell us if one of them hurts.’

‘That reminds me! Matt said Dad called me a demon unicorn! He _snickered_ when he told me, Mom. You realise I’ll never hear the end of this?!’

‘I imagine you won’t.’ There was a hint of not-quite sadistic pleasure, and zero compassion for the indignity. Also, a sceptical eyebrow – because Anna Nelson was not easily waylaid.

‘How could you?’ Foggy persisted. ‘I’m family! You’re eldest child! Fruit of your loins!’

The slip wasn’t intentional, but that somehow made it hilarious. They both laughed, but his mom gathered herself first.

‘You might be fruit from another tree, sweetheart, but you’re mine, through and through.’

Foggy smiled so wide he could feel moisture clinging at the corners of his eyes. ‘I love you, Mom,’ he said. ‘But come on?! Demon unicorn! I’m more like that awesome dragon-cat sculpture we passed in that art store window. No! Wait! Forget the house cat – a winged lion!’

‘Pixie kitten, more likely.’

Foggy scoffed, then braced himself for another stab at the truth. ‘Is it stupid that every time you say it— _boy_ , I mean—I feel like you’re stripping me down and pointing out that I’m a person with a penis? Not in a creepy gross way, but just… I don’t know. I don’t hate my body and I don’t hate the way it works. It’s just… it’s private, you know? And calling attention to it in general conversation, well, it feels like you’re taking something intimate and using it to put all kinds of conditions and expectations on who I am. I don’t want to be separated from half of humanity over something as bizarre as that. I don’t want to be separated from _myself_ by something as bizarre as that. We’re all just people, Mom, and the world would be a safer and better place if we acknowledged that. I mean, sure, reproductively we function differently, but that doesn’t have to divide us into men and women. Some people gestate, others impregnate. A whole bunch of people don’t want to do either. Attaching gender to the process… it’s just smoke and mirrors, you know? It looks like reality, until someone calls foul.’

‘The emperor has no clothes. I remember you loved that one.’

‘Hell, yeah! We have a naked emperor in our minds, but we stand around praising his lavish robes and wrapping ourselves in stale stereotypes and diminished possibilities.’

His mom laughed, and, alright, that last bit _had_ been kind of dramatic. Ooh! Maybe he should start a band: Stale Stereotype and the Diminished Possibilities. They’d have uncomfortably honest lyrics and discordant backing, kind of like The Smiths meet Rise Against.

‘But the emperor’s a he?’ his mom asked, because she could be tenacious like that.

Right. Awkward conversation: still not over. Foggy sighed. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I just don’t have the heart to take on the world of gendered pronouns. Language is more than a game to me. I love it. And I think it might actually hurt quite a lot to go to battle with linguistic purists over something that’s so personal and important to me. Also, I’m going to be a lawyer. I need people to focus on what I know and how well I do my job, not how irritated they are that I’m making them trip over tiny words. Not that I plan to hide – I just…. It sounds hypocritical, I know. You can use _he_ to refer to me, but not _boy_ to describe me. It is what it is, I guess.’

‘I don’t see a problem with that. Do you want to talk to your dad about it, or should I fill him in?’

‘Can you? I don’t really feel up to a repeat at the moment. Besides, he’s busy with Matt. Mom, do you think-’

Foggy paused while two waiters brought food to their table.

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘This looks amazing. Oh, wow! It smells amazing, too.’

‘Is there anything else I can bring you?’ one of the waiters asked. He had dark wavy hair, beautiful eyes and a charming smile.

‘Ah, no. No. We’re good. Thanks,’ Foggy told him.

‘Thank you,’ Anna added. ‘Everything looks perfect.’ Once they were alone, she grinned and raised her eyebrows at Foggy.

He refused to blush. Instead, he emphatically tore a piece of pita and dragged it through one of several dips that were arranged on a platter. It really did smell wonderful – smoky and tangy and rich with garlic, but he stopped before putting it in his mouth. ‘Seriously, though. Tell me I didn’t do the wrong thing with Matt? I mean, I know I didn’t… but tell me anyway?’

‘Sometimes there isn’t a clear _right thing_ , sweetheart. You know that. The way I see it, you had the right to get support when you were put in a situation you didn’t know how to deal with. Beyond that, you did what you could to help and you did it out of genuine concern. I’d have been concerned, too. If everything Matt said is true, there are serious issues involved here. Having said that, Matt has the right to not be happy with the choice you made. Honestly, though, I don’t know how he feels about it. He seemed alright this morning – maybe a little quieter than usual but that’s to be expected.’

Foggy nodded. It was nothing he hadn’t already told himself a hundred times, but it still hurt to hear it. He wondered when his life had become too complicated for blanket reassurances and cure-all hugs.

He let himself focus on eating for a while. He wasn’t a huge fan of the kafta, but the baba ganoush and hummus were possibly the best he’d ever tasted. His mom was obviously enjoying her salad, but every now and then he’d pass random morsels from the platter for her to try.

‘Perhaps you don’t need to worry too much,’ she said. ‘I’m not saying Matt doesn’t need support, but he seems like a very resilient young man.’

‘He is, but then what choice does he have? He’s too smart to let other people’s expectations hold him back.’

‘Mmm.’ His mom looked thoughtful as she finished another mouthful. ‘You know it’s not that simple, don’t you? There are plenty of highly intelligent people whose lives have been derailed by circumstances outside their control. It doesn’t mean they didn’t try hard enough.’

Foggy took a moment to think it over. He could see, rationally, that it must be true. His Disney goggles, though. Man, they were persuasive. ‘But you think Matt’s got whatever he needs to get past this?’

‘I hope so, sweetheart. He’s experienced a lot of loss, but he doesn’t seem to have become cynical or uncaring. He hasn’t withdrawn from pursuing interests or relationships. It’s obvious how much he cares about _you_.’

‘Yeah. He’s not exactly a people person but he seems to like Dad, or be comfortable with him, or whatever. Actually, I’ve never seen Matt interact like that with anyone else. Have you heard them when they’re playing Scrabble? So much bonding! It’s like a daytime movie on HBO. I keep expecting Matt to call Dad sir. It’s adorable!’

‘You shouldn’t be listening in.’ There was a look that went with the statement, but it wasn’t particularly quelling, so Foggy just smiled. ‘But, yes, they are rather sweet. You’re dad and I like Matt quite a lot. Possibly not as much as you do…’

‘Remember how I changed the subject thirty seconds ago when you tried to bring this up? Here’s the sequel. Oh, wow! This is such good pita. So flat and breadish. Yum!’

‘Uh huh.’

They ate in silence while Foggy struggled with his ambivalent resistance to the topic at hand.

‘Fine!’ he said, when he finally broke. ‘You know, _you_ should work for some shady government agency as an interrogator or something. But fine! Alright! He’s super intelligent, unreasonably attractive, a massive dork, kind of intense, and has a smile like pure sunshine. _You’ve_ seen those amazing crinkles around his eyes. I’m only human!’

‘And?’

‘You know, my life is a living hell. I don’t think you fully appreciate that fact, or you’d be way kinder to me,’ Foggy insisted.

‘I’m very kind. Here, try my fattoush.’

Foggy took the bowl and spent a minute sampling various bits and pieces. It was good. When he’d stalled for long enough, he passed it back. He wasn’t sure why he was avoiding talking about this. Maybe because he wanted to talk about it too much. Even thinking about it, he could feel the stupid smile wanting to break out across his face – because apparently he was thirteen.

‘Matt is everything _but_ relationship material,’ he made himself say, because it was true. ‘And that’s aside from the fact that he only dates women.’

‘He does? I would never have picked that. He seems so attentive to everything you say and do. I spent the first few days trying to decide if there was already something going on between you.’

‘Nope,’ Foggy said. ‘No, there is _not_. And that’s a good thing! I’m not sure I want a relationship right now and, Matt, well, it’s totally understandable, but his issues have issues. I think he’s legitimately the most complicated person I’ve ever met.’

‘You’re smarter than me, then. You’re dad was a whole mess of issues when I met him. Rosalind had just left and he was doubting himself as a man, as a husband, doubting his worth because he worked in hardware and retail. The one thing holding him together back then was that he loved _you_ , and that was enough for me. I jumped right in.’ His mom smiled and shook her head. ‘I had such a saviour complex back then, you wouldn’t believe.’

‘Well, I’m glad you jumped in, of course, but are you seriously trying to tell me you’ve gotten over your saving people thing? You _literally_ work in a cancer hospital.’

‘I schedule appointments and do admin! It’s not like I follow our patients home and try to fix their whole lives.’

‘Uh huh – because you’d get arrested for stalking if you did, but don’t tell me you haven’t wanted to.’

His mom laughed. ‘It can be difficult… but actually, working there has put a lot of things into perspective. You realise you can’t fix things that are outside your control, and that there’s no point getting invested in the injustice of that particular kind of suffering. It can happen to any of us. That’s the point where some people quit, and others become hardened – but you know, most of the time, all we can offer each other is acceptance and care. On a good day, I remember that.’

‘And on a bad day?’

‘On a bad day I hold myself personally responsible for every person who walks out of the clinic in tears and goes home alone.’

Something about the fragile truth of it was more comforting than any of the impossible reassurances Foggy had unconsciously desired. He had issues, he _absolutely_ did, but he had family, too.


	11. Strategy and Instinct

Matt wasn’t avoiding Foggy.

He’d been meditating in his room when Anna and Foggy had arrived home from their shopping trip, but he’d gone down to offer help with the groceries they’d bought. It was the least he could do since they wouldn’t allow him to pay his share. After that, the whole family had gathered in the lounge and they’d ended up competing at Jeopardy on the television, trying to get the answers before the real contestants did. Not satisfied with that, Foggy had pulled up an online trivia game and insisted that the two of them team up against Ed and Anna. They’d lost. Apparently twenty-five years or so of additional knowledge counted for quite a lot.

Dinner had been pleasant. Anna had cooked, and afterwards Foggy had offered to help Ed with the cleaning, so Matt went up to his room to listen to a book. Ed had told him that he wouldn’t share anything they’d discussed, and Matt knew it was true.

The distinctive cadence of Foggy’s voice was an enticing contrast to the drone of the bland narration, but Matt kept his attention on the story. It was a shame Foggy didn’t make audiobooks.

Matt was feeling drowsy by the time there was a soft knock at his door. He let himself drift instead of calling out a response, and Foggy must have been tired as well because he continued down the hall and went to bed soon after. Once the house was quiet for the night, Matt shut off his iPod. Fragments of conversation replayed in his mind – some of them from the last couple days, others much older. All of them were persistent. He couldn’t sleep. He spent another hour in meditation.

0  0  0

Sunday morning, he was up early to go walking with Ed. It wouldn’t be much exercise, but it’d be nice to get out of the apartment. When they were ready to go, Matt paused by the door and asked Ed to guide him. There hadn’t been any hesitation in Ed’s agreement, but it was soon apparent that he was far more cautious than Foggy.

‘You can relax, you know. I’m not going to die if you walk me into a lamppost. I won’t even make you clean my shoes if you let me step in something disgusting.’

Ed laughed.

‘Believe me, it happens,’ Matt told him.

‘I’m sure it does.’

They’d covered most of the twelve blocks to the park before Ed relaxed enough to talk about anything other than upcoming cracks in the pavement, joggers, energetic dogs, signposts, and poop.

‘If I ask how you do it,’ he said, ‘how you find enough trust to go out into the world and take chances… you’re going to tell me you don’t have a choice, right? That you do it because you have to.’

‘Something like that,’ Matt said. It took less trust than Ed imagined and Matt didn’t like misleading him, but there were times when being blind meant he had to take things on faith. Dealing with shopping and money, signage, even haircuts – those were obvious challenges. More difficult was the knowledge that facial expressions weren’t always congruent with the words or tone of voice people used. Those kinds of nuances were difficult to pin down and were potentially more isolating. Sure, he could tell if someone was lying or anxious, but it didn’t mean he knew what was really going on. Even without ill intent, so much subtle communication was transmitted through facial expressions and minute gestures. Following a conversation between more than a few people could quickly become boring, if not exhausting, because of the amount of information he missed. That wasn’t what Ed was asking about, though. Everyone imagined crossing the street was more terrifying than misreading social cues in a crowded room.

‘When I was a kid,’ Matt said, ‘I was afraid of monsters under the bed… in the wardrobe… the usual kid stuff. My grandmother wasn’t inclined to indulge my fears, and after she died I was home alone more than Dad would have liked. I spent a lot of time trying to reason away those monsters. Mostly, it worked. On the nights when it didn’t, I just let go – decided if this was the night I was going to be devoured by some horrifically smelly, hairy beast, then so be it. You do what you can, but there are some things you can’t control. Some days, your roommate slips bright orange socks into your drawer.’ Matt didn’t mention that he’d known they weren’t his usual socks the moment he’d touched them, and had guessed they must be something Foggy would find amusing. Matt wore them to be a good sport, and still pulled them out occasionally if he thought Foggy needed a laugh. Apparently they were hideous.

‘Oh, no,’ Ed said, though he sounded amused. ‘Please tell me that wasn’t my son.’

‘I’d like to help you, Ed, but we both know it would be a lie.’

 ‘Hmm. _There’s_ the ruthless lawyer. Not even willing to soften the blow by leaving room for reasonable doubt.’

‘I wouldn’t insult your intelligence like that. We both know the accused is a remorseless scoundrel. I hear Candi’s a good person though, so don’t blame yourself.’

‘If I thought you meant it, I’d defend him, but you’re a terrible liar. Turning right, up here towards the rose gardens, by the way.’

‘I’ve been told my poker face needs work.’ Of course, no one who’d said it had known that—while Matt apparently couldn’t lie—he sure as hell knew how to deceive.

‘The thing with trust, though, Matt…. Look, you’re right, obviously. We can’t control everything and it’s no good pretending otherwise. And I get that sometimes you need to rely on people for things that most of us take for granted – to trust people who maybe don’t deserve it, even if it’s only for a little while. I just don’t know, sweetheart... sometimes it sounds like you don’t think it’s worth defending yourself against people who take advantage of that need, or maybe necessity prevents you from having high standards when it comes to deciding if people deserve your trust.’

Nothing could be further from the truth. Trust wasn’t something Matt thought about often, and it certainly wasn’t something he relied on while negotiating all the necessary human interactions of daily life. Those required competence, clarity, and a smattering of self-deprecating charm. And, yes, a degree of acceptance. Trust was different, though. It was a personal thing – the gut instinct that allowed him to act on input from all his senses without hesitation.

If trust were to be applied to relationships, there were possibly two people in the world Matt trusted at the moment: Foggy and Ed. Even with everything that had happened in the last week, it was true. Gut instinct. He liked Anna just fine, was grateful for her welcoming presence and generosity, but the instinct wasn’t there. Maybe it would develop over time, but maybe not. Matt could probably count on his fingers the number of people he’d trusted in his lifetime. Elektra wasn’t among them. He’d loved her, sure, but he wasn’t an idiot. In fact, not quite trusting her had possibly been part of the thrill. Stick had been on the list, though. In some ways, he still was. That was most likely the point Ed was making.

‘Need doesn’t engender trust but, sure, there’s a degree of acceptance. Like I said – I’m not going to die if someone walks me into a post, and most of the time it would be a matter of distraction, not malicious intent.’

‘Whatever the cause, sweetheart, would you mention that you were hurt?’

‘I’m not that soft, Ed. I didn’t get where I am by allowing people to walk all over me. Maybe you don’t realise how much self-advocacy is involved in every part of my life.’

‘I wouldn’t presume to know that, but I’m sure it’s a lot. I imagine you’re very good at it. Even so, I’m sure you have to choose your battles. What I’m suggesting is that your criteria for choosing might be based on beliefs and expectations you don’t even realise you have. You’re clearly a fighter, Matt. It might be worth noticing the parts of yourself you don’t bother to defend.’

Matt made a non-committal sound, even though Ed’s words twisted somewhere in his sternum. _Nothing like a bruise to show you the gaps in your defence._

After a few minutes, Ed broke the silence. ‘Up ahead is where some of the old guys get together to play chess.’

Matt had been aware. Several games were in progress. In the last few minutes, a player had declared checkmate. Before that, he’d been trying to place the sound of timers starting and stopping. Now that they were closer he could detect the soft thunk of felt-bottomed pieces being placed on the boards.

They came to a stop a polite distance from the tables.

‘Do you play?’ Matt asked.

‘Not at their level. It’s not really my kind of game. How about you?’

‘Yeah. I’m pretty good, actually.’

‘No kidding?’

If Matt didn’t know Ed better, he’d be irritated by the tone of surprise. As it was, he was curious. ‘You’ve seen me play Scrabble.’

‘Well, yeah, but that’s not chess. Once a word is down in Scrabble, it stays there.’

‘You have a point.’ Matt let his attention linger on a nearby game. The players were the only ones calling their moves, and they were using descriptive, which was something he hadn’t heard in a while. He’d always preferred it over the more common algebraic.

Stick had taught him using descriptive.

Years later, Matt had wondered at the improbable excess of someone like Stick rejecting the more prosaic alphanumeric grid. Perhaps it had been a fleeting wisp of nostalgia on Stick’s part, or the death throes of a deeply buried poetic soul. More likely, Stick had told himself that simplification was for sissies. Whatever the justification, Matt had recently come to suspect that Stick wasn’t as pragmatic as he’d believed himself to be. Then again, it could hardly be considered whimsical to choose descriptive notation when the goal was to teach Matt how to maintain awareness of every enemy on a battlefield; to make him plan three to five moves ahead while the clock counted out the seconds; to encourage him to recognise and take out the most powerful pieces as soon as possible… and his personal favourite: _Don’t be fooled because she’s a woman. She’s controlling the board. Kill the bitch before she kills you_.

As a child, Matt had been equal parts shocked and delighted by the curse word. That had possibly been the goal. Many of the things Matt had previously put down to Stick’s churlish and irascible nature were beginning to seem like calculated enticements and manipulations.

Being the only child of a single dad, Matt had often felt like he stood on the edge of being invited into the adult world, even when he was small. Boxing culture was big on making men out of boys. It was difficult to acknowledge, but in some ways his dad and Stick had been alike. Neither would allow Matt to give anything less than his best. Neither was inclined to coddle. Matt could make peace with the similarities, though, because he was absolutely certain Jack Murdock only ever had his son’s best interests at heart. All parents used their power over their children to manipulate them to that end.

Matt was no longer sure where his best interests were ranked in Stick’s agenda.

‘You can’t win at chess if you try to protect all your pieces,’ he said.

‘Must be the reason I never liked the game.’

 

By the time they returned to the apartment, Foggy was in the kitchen making mountains of French toast, eggs and bacon. Anna was at the table reading an actual paper-and-ink newspaper. The smell coming off the pages seemed particularly intense, and Matt could only hope he kept his displeasure from showing on his face. Fortunately, the paper was put aside when breakfast was ready, but the smell of bacon and strong coffee sat unpleasantly with the bitter ink.

The food was probably good, but Matt consumed more coffee than anything. He felt distracted and unsettled. The walk had left him wanting to run. He found himself dipping in and out of the conversations around him. Foggy and Anna talked about their shopping trip and the café they’d been to. There was speculation about the likelihood of Candi extending her holiday into a gap year. Ed and Anna complimented Foggy’s cooking. And somehow, amongst it all, Matt apparently missed the news that Anna and Ed were going out for the day.

‘You bo- Foggy, darling? Matt? You’ll be fine to handle the clean-up, won’t you? I want to get out and make the most of this glorious day.’

‘Thanks, Mom,’ Foggy said. ‘Yeah, of course. You and Dad head out. We’ll be fine.’

‘Alright, well… call if you need anything.’

‘We’re not twelve, Mom.’

‘That’s right: you’re not. Call if you need anything. I told Jan we’d drop by her place this afternoon, and Bess is going to be there, so we probably won’t be home before six. You know what they’re like when they get started with euchre. If we’re going to be later than that we’ll pick up takeout; probably from the Thai place.’

Ed squeezed Matt’s shoulder as he rounded the table and Matt almost startled.

A few minutes later, there was a final chorus of goodbyes and the sound of the door.

‘Well, that was smooth,’ Foggy said, the moment they were alone.

‘Uh… sorry, what?’ Matt asked. He’d managed to push down the distracted feeling, and was leaning across the table, gathering dishes.

‘Really? That unsubtle train wreck of overwhelming parental concern didn’t register? I knew you were vagued out, buddy, but seriously?’ Foggy sighed. ‘They think we need to talk, so they’re giving us space. A whooole lot of space… nice and all, but… look, we don’t have to talk. You can spend the day in your room, or whatever. Or _I can_ , if you want to work out down here or something.’

‘They didn’t have to do that,’ Matt said. He couldn’t believe he’d driven Ed and Anna out of their own home.

‘Eh, don’t get me wrong. It’s not unusual for them to spend a day combing the city for new cafés and bookstores and whatever. Also, Mom’s just as much a euchre fiend as Bess, so don’t be fooled by her little charade of benevolent indulgence. We’ll definitely be having Thai tonight. No, it was more the significant looks and weighty pauses that I’m apologising for.’

‘I, ah, I didn’t notice anything. Sorry.’

‘It’s fine. Better than fine, actually. It’s good! Or, I don’t know, not really, I suppose… I mean, I’m glad they didn’t make you uncomfortable, but you must have been pretty out of it if you didn’t notice. And I don’t want to pressure you to talk, I _really_ don’t, because I literally can’t express how much I _don’t_ want a rerun of, well, _you know_... last time. Which is fine, because it doesn’t have to be! Because I’ve learned a lot since then, and I don’t need to repeat that meltdown. So! Progress, right?! _You_ be _you_. _I’ll_ be _me_. And we’re good!’

Matt forgot the dishes and sat back down. He smoothed his fingers along the table cloth. It was linen, and the individual strands were of varying thickness. The weave was regular but loose.

‘Except… we’re not, are we.’ Foggy said. He sounded resigned. ‘You know you can tell me, right? I mean, I’m not pushing. You don’t _have to_ say anything. I just want you to know that it’s alright if you do. You can tell me you’re angry if you want.’

Foggy hadn’t sat back down. He was standing near the wide door that led to the hall, rocking slightly from heels to toes.

Matt rubbed his fingers along the cloth. Frictional heat sparked at his fingertips. ‘I’m not angry,’ he said. ‘I got drunk. I upset you and made you worry. You did what you thought was best.’

‘Then why does it feel like you’re avoiding me?’

‘I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m sitting right here. I’m clearly not avoiding you.’

‘You are. You’re being all polite and withdrawn, and I feel like I can’t say or do anything about it because of what happened last time. I don’t want to make you pull away further by being all desperate and clingy, but that happened because I care about you, Matt! I didn’t handle it well, then, and I’m trying to do better now, but…’ Foggy stopped. ‘I’m doing it again. Alright, ten seconds. I’m just going to _stop talking_ for _ten seconds_.’

It was longer than that. Matt wanted to leave the room, but he stayed in his seat. His fingers began tapping out a rapid counterpoint to Foggy’s weighty breaths and escalated heartbeat. He forced his hand flat against the cloth.

‘Alright,’ Foggy said. He took another deep breath and exhaled heavily. ‘You don’t owe me anything. I have needs, and I’ll feel better if I tell you how I feel, but you can respond, or not respond, however you like. So. I want you to know that it’s fine if you’re angry at me. I would understand that. If you are, then I’d personally feel better if you said it, because then it’s out in the open, but there’s-’

Matt shoved against the table and got to his feet. The chair tipped, behind him.

‘If I said what!? That I felt ambushed!? You let me walk around for days not knowing that this was going to be sprung on me! You made me doubt every word your dad had spoken to me since I’d arrived. I like him, Foggy. He’s a good man and I thought we were getting along fine, and then every conversation we’d had felt like a setup! You know what? I’ve made a _huge_ effort, since I’ve been here, to ignore conversations that I’m not a part of – to tune out anything that’s none of my business. They’re your _family_ and they’ve invited me into their _home_ , and they don’t know what that means! They don’t know what they’ve invited in. They don’t know what I _am_. So I’ve been trying! But now I have to wonder what misplaced, condescending bullshit I’d have overheard if I’d chosen to listen!’ Matt knew that wasn’t fair. He’d already settled the matter with Ed, and he didn’t doubt Ed’s kindness was sincere, or that it extended beyond his concern over Matt’s past. For some reason, though, that didn’t seem to matter right now.

‘Alright. OK. So you’re angry-’

‘Of course I’m angry! You set me up! This is _your_ home and _your_ family. You’re in a place that’s comfortable to you. You’re family is such a tight-knit unit! Fuck! It’s like you’re an ocean of currents all working together to drag me where you want me to go. I feel like a piece of cork – like I have no control, no way to navigate.’ Matt tried to step back from the table, but his leg struck the toppled chair. He tried to force back the disorientation that had crept up on him. His breathing was a mess. His heart was pounding. He let himself focus on picking up the chair. As he turned, his elbow collided with something solid. The sound of glass smashing on polished floorboards was immediate and shocking. Matt stumbled back until he was leaning against the wall, but ended up on the ground, arms wrapped around his knees, forehead pressed against his legs. He couldn’t think and he couldn’t breathe. Humidity was condensing on his face and his jeans. He tightened his hands into fists.

‘I’m sorry, Matt. I’m so sorry.’ Foggy must have come around the table, because he was crouched by Matt’s side. ‘Look, you can… you can leave if you want. I don’t want you to! I _really_ don’t, but if you need to… if it’s too much. I’m so sorry.’

‘I don’t…’ Matt struggled to catch his breath. ‘I… fuck! I broke one of Anna’s glasses.’

There was a scraping sound and shuffling movements as Foggy pushed shards out of the way with his shoe. After that, he flopped down at Matt’s side.

‘Yeah, it’s broken,’ he said. ‘But it’s just a glass. You know she won’t care, right?’

‘I care! I don’t belong here!’

‘Oh, hey, that’s not true. I wasn’t saying you don’t belong, buddy. I was saying that I’d understand if you want to go. We Nelsons can be a lot to deal with, that’s all.’

‘I don’t…’ Matt said. ‘I don’t want to go, I just… I don’t know what I’m doing here, and you’re all... you’re good people, and-’

‘It’s alright, Matt. Honestly. I’m so sorry I hurt you. I wasn’t trying to set you up. I just wanted to help. I love you, buddy. I really do. You’re such a good person. You’ve been there for me when things have been tough. You’ve respected me and supported me, and I want you here. I want you to know my family. I know we’re a lot to deal with, but it’s because we care. You couldn’t be more welcome, buddy.’ Foggy’s arm came to rest around Matt’s back – lightly at first, but the gentle pressure increased until he was resting his head on Matt’s shoulder.

Matt tensed, but let the touch settle over him.

The larger, thicker fragments of glass were causing eddies in the currents thrown off by Foggy’s movements. Matt wondered if Ed and Anna would tell themselves it was inevitable that the blind guy would break a glass. He wondered if they’d already resigned themselves to it when they’d continued to use them in his presence. But he knew they wouldn’t; that they hadn’t. Anna had broken a glass, and now Matt had broken one as well. It would be no big deal.

Ed and Anna were more like Foggy than Matt had first realised. He hadn’t imagined what it might be like to spend time in a place where people like Foggy were the norm. It was unsettling.

‘I wish you’d talked to me,’ Matt said. It came out muffled, so he pulled his face back from his knees. Foggy shifted to accommodate the movement. ‘I wish you’d told me that you’d talked to your dad.’

‘I promise it wasn’t some big set up,’ Foggy said. ‘It was a spur of the moment decision the night before we were due to leave. But also… if I’d told you when you woke up the next morning, you wouldn’t have come. You weren’t in great shape, buddy.’

‘You’re right. I wouldn’t have.’ It felt like an distant truth, unimaginable now that he was here.

‘And I’m glad you did.’

‘Yeah,’ Matt said, ‘me too. I wouldn’t have come and I’m glad I did, so it doesn’t make sense to wish things were different. I still wish you’d told me, though.’

‘I actually get that. I’m pretty sure I’d feel the same.’

‘Fogs, I don’t want to talk about it but I want you to know… things weren’t as bad as you’re imagining… with Stick, I mean. It definitely wasn’t great, I know that, but it probably wasn’t as bad as you think.’

‘I think we have different expectations about some things, buddy, and for now that’s probably the best agreement we can come to.’

Matt would have tried to push the point, but Foggy sounded resolute. ‘I suppose that’s fair,’ he said, instead.

‘So, are we good?

‘We’re good.’

‘Thank you, buddy. Thanks.’ Foggy gave Matt a tight squeeze then sat up straight. ‘How ‘bout you stay there while I grab the pan and clean up the glass?’

Matt resisted the urge to refuse. It would be simpler for Foggy to do it, and Matt needed a moment to gather himself, anyway. Out of everything they’d said, it was the casual truth of Foggy’s “I love you”, the certainty of Matt’s welcome here, that kept playing through his mind.


	12. Not Quite a Walk in the Park

Matt pushed down the flash of irritation he felt at Anna’s presence for breakfast Monday morning. She’d be leaving for work before twelve and, anyway, that wasn’t really the point. It was her home. He was a guest, and it was beyond unreasonable for him to feel so disgruntled. It wasn’t as if he disliked her company – far from it. Her affection for Foggy was wonderful, and she’d been every bit as indifferent about the broken glass as Foggy had said she’d be. There was nothing patronising about her. She was a good person.

The thing was, he and Foggy had settled into a routine that took advantage of their free time and the empty apartment. Each morning, Foggy would gather a bunch of “mystery ingredients” for breakfast and insist that Matt guess what they were and what he was making. Matt wasn’t allowed to touch anything, but he'd usually managed to work it out before the food was done, or sometimes much sooner. In an effort to distract Matt from “super-sensing” clearly, Foggy would toss random objects around the room and challenge Matt to identify them as they flew through the air, or he’d search the fridge and cupboards looking for smells that made Matt pull “outright hilarious” faces. He’d even provoked Matt into trying some horrendously sugary breakfast cereal by _casuall_ y suggesting Matt wouldn’t be able to catch it in his mouth. Matt was totally aware of the manipulation but it was worth doing, just to prove he could. After breakfast they’d end up in the lounge while Foggy constructed his latest game.

It wasn’t a big deal, really. For the next week, mornings would be sedate. That was all. It wasn’t any different than dinner or the weekend.

Matt tried not to keep checking the time.

 

‘You, my friend, have been wearing your restless-puppy face all morning.’

Anna had left at last, but apparently Matt had failed in his efforts. Hopefully it was only Foggy who’d noticed.

‘Relax, buddy, no need to switch to the fraught-with-guilt face. My observation was mostly a smooth segue into something I wanted to talk to you about – although it was also totally true. Come. Sit.’ Foggy patted his thigh as he said it.

Ha ha. Matt chose to ignore the gesture.

They settled on the lounge, with Foggy turned sideways and obviously focused on Matt. He didn’t seem anxious, though, just intent.

‘I’ve been thinking about our conversation yesterday morning,’ he said.

They hadn’t talked about anything difficult after Matt’s little meltdown. Instead, Foggy had roped Matt into listening to parts of the radio series of _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_ while they idly threw balls back and forth between them. It was a set-up, of course, and when Matt had finally confessed that he was more than a little familiar with the production, they’d competed to see who could remember the longest and strangest quotes. Matt wasn’t sure if he was impressed or horrified that Foggy knew Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty by heart.

It seemed the respite was over, though.

‘It’s fine, buddy. No need to look all concerned. I just wanted to run something by you. You said you were out of your comfort zone, here, and I get that. Recent developments aside, you wouldn’t be the first person I’ve brought home who’s found my family to be kind of intense. We’re like those tessellation blocks – no matter how you arrange us we’re super close, and I know some people find that weird or something.

‘What I was thinking, though, was that I haven’t really given you the space to continue your usual routines, either. I mean, you’ve been awesome, indulging me with my games and whatever, but you haven’t really had the chance to exercise or work out or tumble-kick the shadows or anything. So I was wondering if I should back off and let you do your own thing, more. Specifically, I was wondering if you might feel less out of control and, to borrow your metaphor, at sea, if you had more room to be yourself while Mom and Dad are out. Trust me that I feel every bit like a six-year-old when I say this, but I love playing with you, buddy. It’s _so much_ fun… but I realise I’ve been kind of selfish in monopolising your time. You’re on holiday. You should be doing the things _you_ enjoy.’

‘I like playing with you,’ Matt said. ‘I mean, I, ah-’

Foggy laughed.

‘-I like the challenges you come up with. I don’t… you’re not monopolising my time,’ Matt said.

‘Well, that’s good to know, buddy! Awesome! And you can stop looking embarrassed, by the way. I won’t tell anyone you’re the reigning champ at hide and go seek. Your cred is one hundred percent safe with me. Think about it: I’ve already proven my loyalty by not letting anyone know what a massive dork you are. In fact I’m president of the ‘Look How Smooth and Sophisticated Matt Murdock Is’ propaganda club. Not the point I was making, though. You’re in Nelson territory, but you can still be yourself, you know?’

Foggy was probably right. Maybe Matt just needed to feel more _himself_ , more in control, after such an unpredictable weekend. He’d spent the night reminding himself of what Foggy had said – that the various conversations about Stick came down to differences of opinion. Matt wasn’t used to other people weighing in on the discussion. Most of his life had been lived with no one but himself keeping track. Foggy’s family were different, though. They were used to knowing each other’s business and being involved in each other’s lives. Ed’s discomfort at Foggy being away from home proved that. He couldn’t imagine how they were coping with Candi being overseas.

That kind of entanglement was new for Matt, but if he thought of it as an inevitable aspect of being in their home it was fine. They no doubt took an interest in the lives of everyone they brought under their roof. And Matt knew, when it came to his past, that they weren’t entirely wrong. He’d already been reassessing some of Stick’s bullshit, anyway. He’d rejected the idea that he couldn’t tell Foggy about his senses. The situation with Stick was… well, it was obviously not as problematic as Foggy and Ed seemed to believe, but it was definitely worthy of review.

It didn’t have to undermine Matt’s sense of control. He’d let himself get distracted by conversations with Ed and games with Foggy. The last time he’d done a full work out had been almost two weeks ago. It was almost unbelievable. He hadn’t even managed any basic strength or fitness training since they’d arrived. He hadn’t wanted to risk doing anything that might seem out of place when Ed and Anna were around, and when they were out he’d been with Foggy.

‘So, here’s the plan, Murdock. You go off and do _whatever it is_ that makes you flushed and sweaty, and once you’re done—and I say this as someone with an earnest need to regain their dignity after loosing every round of hide and go seek—you come back and face a brand new challenge. What say you?’

Matt grinned. Foggy Nelson was hands down the strangest person he’d ever met. ‘I say that I look forward to defeating you in new and interesting ways.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Foggy said. He shoved Matt’s shoulder, and Matt let himself be pushed. ‘Go upstairs. Work those muscles. And don’t shirk, buddy – _chase the burn_ or whatever it is you people say. I’ll just be down here plotting your demise.’

 

‘Matt, buddy, we _need_ to get out of the apartment. I’m not sure what comes after turning the whole of downstairs into an obstacle course, but I can guarantee it’s not something that would bring joy to my parents’ hearts, and they’re the ones who live here full time.’

It had taken the two of them forever to put all the furniture, cushions, bedding, _lawn chairs_ and _pop-up sun shelters_ back in place. Matt wasn’t sure how Foggy had managed the set-up on his own.

‘You’re just sore because you lost,’ Matt said. He didn’t make much effort to keep the smugness out of his voice. ‘You’ll feel better once you embrace the truth: there isn’t a challenge that can defeat me.’

‘I actually think I believe that, buddy,’ Foggy said. He didn’t sound sore at all. He sounded fond.

Matt didn’t know what to say.

‘What I’m thinking, though,’ Foggy continued, and suddenly he was all restless tension, ‘is that tomorrow morning we should catch a bus to somewhere far, far away. You can ditch the cane, and show me how you do your thing out in the world. It’ll be fantastic.’

‘Ah…,’ Matt said. ‘Do my thing?’ he tacked on, not really wanting to know, but needing to ask.

‘You don’t remember, do you? I shouldn’t really be surprised. The day with the fireball, you told me you’ve “passed” as sighted before.’

Matt groaned and buried his face in his hands. ‘Please forget I ever said that. It’s so, _so_ problematic.’

‘Yeah, I can kind of see that, but why, though? Doesn’t it come down to intent? If I cut my hair and wore a suit, most people would think: _Look at that devilishly handsome straight man_. In reality I’d just be me, acting on whatever mood struck me at the time. I know passing is a privilege that some people don’t ever get. Skin colour, visible disability, body shape, PDA’s with a partner who’s ascribed the same gender – none of those go unnoticed. Erasure and visibility both have their own issues when it comes to the whole discrimination and marginalisation package, but you’re not responsible for people’s assumptions, Matt. If you jog along the beach with your sunglasses on, why should you worry what people think? I mean, unless you crash into someone, of course. Would you, though?  Crash, I mean. Or is that something you could do without causing a pileup of toned and spandex clad persons?’

‘Of course I could, Fog. I’d probably want to spend a couple minutes checking it out first. I don’t know. There’d be some unfamiliar variables with that much sand, wind, and open water. I doubt it would be too taxing, though.’

‘You totally want to do this!’

‘I didn’t say that. It’s a bad idea. I was just weighing up whether I could, _theoretically_ , do it.’ Matt dragged his hands over his face. ‘I can’t believe I even mentioned it. I didn’t know it was possible to be _that_ intoxicated.’

‘Chill, Murdock. We’re just talking about you going out in the world and doing what’s normal for you. What’s so terrible about that? And I’ll be there as backup, buddy. I mean, not if you actually go running, because there’s no way I can keep up with your crazy athletic self, but we could wander around, get out in the sunshine!’

Foggy’s enthusiasm was contagious. It reminded Matt of the naïve sense of freedom he’d felt in his teens.

‘First year of college, I used to head to different parts of the city and switch my cane for a baseball cap or hoodie. I had these terrible aviator glasses that I’d wear, hoping people just thought I was a douche when I kept them on indoors. This one time, I went into an art gallery. They had an exhibition of modern art, but I’m pretty sure I spent ten minutes contemplating the trash bin. No food was allowed in the gallery, of course, so it didn’t smell like other bins. I can’t imagine what they expected people to put in it, but it had this amazing resonance. The air conditioning and clack of heels made it vibrate in the best way. I only suspected something was odd when I realised people were staring at me. It was definitely worth it though. It really was a wonderful sound.’

‘You must love the eastern stairwell to the dorm. Why didn’t I realise that? Wait, hang on… was that a _yes_? It was, wasn’t it! We’re doing this?! Oh, my god, Murdock, tell me we’re doing this!’

Matt couldn’t hold back his smile. ‘We’re doing this, Fog.’

‘Yes! Oh, yes! This is gonna be great!’

0  0  0

 They wouldn’t be going to an art gallery, and Matt wouldn’t be running, either – although the possibility had lodged itself in the back of his mind. The plan was simple: head back over to the city and get lost in the crowd. Even with the seemingly thousands of people Foggy knew, there wasn’t much chance of being seen. Matt still decided to reprise the baseball cap and aviators look, just in case, and given the time Foggy took to get ready, Matt was sure he’d gone all out with his appearance.

Because of the delay, they hadn’t joined Anna for breakfast. Instead they settled for toast, which they ate standing at the kitchen bench. Matt was relieved. He couldn’t imagine sitting still and making polite conversation. Foggy tried to goad him into a gross-toppings competition, but Matt refused on the grounds that he was the sane one. It was an indefensible claim given what he was about to do, but Foggy didn’t challenge the assertion. Matt didn’t concede that Foggy’s peanut butter and jalapeño topping smelled surprisingly good.

Foggy was in a rush to get going as soon as they were done, and they were out the door before Matt had time to get cold feet. He held on to Foggy’s arm until they were on the train in case a neighbour or someone saw them. Foggy was being more expansive than usual, and Matt couldn’t work out if it was just joie de vivre or if Foggy was intentionally offering a distraction. Whatever the cause, the steady flow of exclamations and commentary kept Matt from focusing entirely on his own uncertainty.

They got off at 42nd with no immediate plan other than to acquire coffee. Matt suppressed the urge to tug his cap lower as they climbed the stairs from the station. He could do this. It would be fine. It was far from the most reckless thing he’d done in recent times – although it _was_ the most premeditated.  He wasn’t sure if it was much of a defence to argue that his reckless behaviour was usually impulsive.

It wasn’t until they were on the street that he realised Foggy had quieted down. It took even longer to work out that it was because he was busy watching Matt navigate the crowd. The lack of distraction was probably for the best. Matt didn’t have the attention for conversation right now. It wasn’t entirely different than any other day—he rarely actually relied on his cane—but he was used to most people giving him a little space, if only because they didn’t want to get tripped up. Now, as people brushed past him, there wasn’t going to be an awkward moment where they forced out a frustrated or embarrassed apology once they realised what they’d done. Matt was reminded of descriptions of atoms randomly colliding and dispersing. Such was the anonymity of New York. He loved it.

The moment they were seated with stupidly expensive coffees in front of them, Foggy found his voice. ‘No offence, buddy, but that was _so_ uncanny! I knew you could do it but, just, _wow_. That was _amazing_! It’s stupid crowded out there. I mean, it’s Midtown, it’s always crowded, but I think _I_ bumped into more people than you did. I kind of wanted to get behind you and just be drawn along in your wake!’

Matt wasn’t ready to talk about it.

‘Subtle, Fog. I thought the whole point was to avoid drawing attention.’

‘Yikes! Sorry, buddy. Although… I wouldn’t really say that was the point. The _point_ is that you get to go out in the world and be your awesome self. The discretion is just a buffer so you feel like you can.’

This wasn’t being himself. It was using his skills and abilities to create a different illusion than the one he wore every day. ‘Can we not talk about it,’ he said.

‘Of course. Sorry. I’m just a bit blown away. That was…. Nope. Doing it again. Right. Not talking about it.’ Foggy drummed his fingers on the table. There was a drawn out pause. ‘Sorry. I can’t think of a single other thing to talk about. There isn’t one thought in my head right now that doesn’t boil down to _holy shit_. Sorry, buddy. It might take a few minutes for me to recover my chill.’

It wasn’t quite a change of subject, but it still made Matt smile. ‘Fogs, it’s imperative that you know the truth, even if it means I have to be the one to say it: you have no chill. Absolutely none. You’re way too passionate and expressive to be truly mellow. I’ll concede that you sometimes give a credible _impression_ of chill, but that, in itself, is a testament to your thespian intensity.’

‘You wound me, buddy,’ Foggy said. There wasn’t a shred of sincerity in it. ‘Of course, you’re the very essence of chill, yourself.’ And _that_ he managed to make sound even less sincere, although Matt could hear the smile behind it.

They sipped their drinks. It should have been companionable but Matt could feel Foggy staring at him. It was making his skin start to prickle at the base of his throat. Being the one to carry the small talk wasn’t usually Matt’s role. Finally, he hit upon a random thought he’d had over dinner the night before.

‘You’ve stopped calling me _man_. You used to say it a lot.’

Foggy laughed. ‘ _Now_ you’re calling me on that?’ He put down his cup and shifted in his seat. ‘Fine, fine. Fair enough. We can talk about this. It’s kind of embarrassing, but I used to think it was funny, alright? People take gender labels so seriously, like they’re an actual thing. So, yeah, I did it to be, well, not quite ironic, but it amused me. I mean, we turn common nouns into proper ones so that we reinforce their social standing, right? Mum, Dad, Sis. But _man_ , when it’s used in that way, falls somewhere between a term of endearment and a weird ass substitute pronoun, and it just seems like such a strange thing to feel the need to reinforce.’

‘And _buddy_?’ Matt said.

‘Well, I’m all for reinforcing that one, obviously. Consider me committed to the cause, buddy.’ Foggy laughed. ‘You know, when I first started thinking it was bizarre to shore up identities in that way, I tried to convince my little cousins, Celeste, to name one of her dolls Replica Infant. I thought it would be brilliantly satirical. Unfortunately she was too young to get it, and even my parents didn’t fully appreciate the comic genius of their eldest child. I’m pretty sure Aunty Rita and Uncle Ricco had no clue what I was on about.

‘So, anyway, the shorter version is that it was something that used to bug me—the whole reinforcement of machismo thing—and then one day I decided to find it endearingly absurd. After that it was mostly just habit, to be honest. Lately it doesn’t seem as funny, though. I’m trying to be more aware of the things I say.’

‘That was more than I was expecting,’ Matt said. ‘Why did I not realise there’d be back-story?’

‘I don’t know, man! You’d think you’d know better by now.’

Matt grinned. He wouldn’t tell Foggy, but he’d actually kind of missed it.

‘Had to do it just once, now that I’ve confessed,’ Foggy added.

‘Understood. And for the record, I respect and admire the comic genius of naming a doll Replica Infant. It has a dignified air to it, while also being very _Tomorrow File_.’

‘I knew you’d appreciate my brilliance, buddy! Where were _you_ when I was surrounded by doubters?’

People with Foggy’s background took rhetorical questions like that lightly.

‘Have you read the book?’ Matt asked. ‘ _The Tomorrow File_?’ It was an old one, but it had caught his attention a few years back while he was hiding out in the Heiskell to avoid the stifling heat.

Foggy hadn’t heard of it, but he could spin an impassioned flourish on just about any topic. They talked about dystopian futures and zombie apocalypses while they finished their drinks.

When they returned to the sidewalk, Matt was once again occupied with navigating the crowd. As he settled into the rhythm of it, though, his awareness extended to non-essential details. The gap between himself and Foggy felt improbably wide given the absence of Matt’s cane. It took a few more blocks to register the anxious twitch of his empty hand. It was similar to the strange feeling when he’d first stopped pretending in front of Foggy – a learned discomfort that centred on the belief that Matt was doing something inappropriate and stupid. He tightened his hand into a fist and then shook it out. Walking through a crowd was no big deal. He wouldn’t let it be.

Half-listening to Foggy’s observations was entertaining enough to keep Matt from focusing entirely on himself, but it wasn’t until they were wandering through Central Park that he relaxed enough to fully enter into conversation. All around them, the sounds and smells of animals and trees intertwined with the inescapable presence of the city. Getting out had been a great idea.

‘Could you skateboard, Matt?’

Huh. Matt was sure they’d been talking about the possibility of finding a pretzel vendor sometime in the not-too-distant future. Foggy had seemed quite committed to the idea. Perhaps that had been a few minutes ago. This end of the park was noisy, given that they were close to the zoo, the carrousel _and_ the amusement park. The sound of so many squealing children would probably be more irritating if they weren’t surrounded by open spaces and trees. Matt realised his attention had wandered to chasing impressions from all around him. He didn’t spend enough time in parks.

‘I’m not going to skateboard, Fogs,’ he said, even though the idea made him smile.

‘Not what I asked, buddy. Could you?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe? Maybe not?’

‘I bet you could.’

‘I honestly don’t know. I’ve never tried anything like it.’

‘In a skate park, though – smooth surfaces, nothing left lying around. I bet you’d be awesome.’

‘I’m not skateboarding, Foggy.’

‘Yeah, but just imagine…’

‘Foggy! I’m _not_ going _skateboarding_.’

‘But aren’t you curious, though? Come on, Matt, with your skills? I can’t believe you wouldn’t want to try.’ It sounded more demanding than cajoling.

‘Let it go, Fog.’

Foggy let out an irritated huff of a breath. ‘I’m just saying it would be amazing. I bet you’d love it.’

‘Drop it, alright. Isn’t it enough that we’re doing _this_?’

‘Ugh! Why don’t you get it?! Hiding who you are is bullshit, Matt! It’s pointless and frustrating and literally no one is going to thank you for maintaining the status quo, because it’s just expected that you will! It’s not worth it! If you want to skate, fucking skate. If you want to run, fucking run! I don’t get why you’re not angry about this. Do you know how many things I’ve given up because of ridiculous imposed beliefs about gender? So many! Theatre, motorcycle riding, ballroom dancing: very different activities, you might think – but no! Because every one of them was turned into some kind of statement about the _kind of man_ I am. When I dance, I lead. I’m good at it and I enjoy it, but even if I’m dancing with a non-female person, it somehow means I pitch and they catch – as if that even makes any sense! It’s just a relabelling of gendered assumptions. Same with the motorbike, but this time there’s a bonus serve of hypermasculinity. If I put you on the back of my bike, we know who’s in charge and we know what that means. The whole thing is _repulsive_. Even theatre, _literal acting_ , frequently fails to say or do anything uninhibited and meaningful in representing humans differently. So I stopped. I don’t do things that strengthen the stupid ideas people have about me because of some chromosomal lottery, and I dress the way I do to remind them not to go for the easy assumption. Not that I don’t like the way I look right now. I do. But even with all of that I _still_ don’t know how to make people relate to me the way I relate to myself. All I know is _hiding doesn’t work!_ ’

They’d come to a stop in the middle of the path. People were moving around them, but some didn’t seem too happy about it. Matt took Foggy’s arm and directed them onto the grass.

‘I’m sorry, Fogs. I assumed because we’re away from Columbia that you wouldn’t be stressed about any of this. That was stupid of me. I don’t stop being blind just because I’m on break, so why would everything suddenly be fine for you.’

Foggy laughed, but it sounded a little forced. ‘I feel like there’s a whole conversation to be had about that comparison – not because it’s _necessarily_ a bad one, just that it’s fairly complex. I’m going to put a pin in it, though, because I really need some processing time right now. I honestly don’t know where the hell that just came from. It didn’t even make any sense. Not going to apologise…. Actually, I am going to apologise for pushing you: that bit was bullshit. Sorry, buddy. The rest though… yeah. Can we, like, lie under a tree or something?’

‘Sure. It might be easier for you to find a spot that looks appealing, though.’

Foggy was obviously glad for the distraction. He set about finding the perfect spot, and the place he chose was pretty good. The grass was dry and soft, and Matt could feel dappled shade on his face. He stretched out his legs and braced himself with his arms behind him. Foggy sprawled across the grass, claiming Matt’s thigh as a pillow. His hair was, apparently, too perfect to end up with twigs and leaves in it. They settled for a while, with the noise of the day flowing around them.

‘This morning was the first time Mom’s seen me dressed like this,’ Foggy said. He was fiddling with a dry leaf he’d picked up from the ground.

‘Like…’ Matt said, although he knew what Foggy meant.

‘Oh, sorry, buddy. Description. Ah. I don’t know. Hair braided. Loose cotton pants that are kind of wide in the leg. Straight shift that’s about thigh length. A few buttons at the back. Sleeveless and kind of sack-like. Um. Brown sandals. Oh, right. The pants are really light green, the shift’s a light coffee colour with partial yellow circles here and there – kind of like ring marks from a coffee cup on a table.’

Matt had only a vague idea what a shift was, but he was familiar with braids. He liked the intricacy of them.

‘That’s why we ate breakfast in the kitchen,’ he said.

Foggy shrugged against Matt’s leg but then pushed up into a sitting position.

‘It was fine. She… she didn’t say anything.’

‘We left in a hurry.’

‘She had time.’

‘I’ve been told that compliments from a blind man mean nothing but, Fog, even with the lacklustre description you just gave, I know that what you’re wearing suits you. It sounds perfect. I can’t imagine your mom wouldn’t think so.’

‘Yeah, you didn’t see her face, buddy.’

‘No, I didn’t. But I’ve heard the way she and your dad talk about you. I’ve heard how they talk _to_ you. They’re really proud of you. I know you don’t need anyone’s acceptance, but they-’

‘Yeah, actually, here’s the thing: I think it turns out when it comes to them, I kinda do.’

‘And you really think you don’t have it?’

‘No. No, of course not. It was scary, that’s all. Worse than any single day at Columbia. I don’t know what I wanted from her. There was a split second where she looked kind of shocked, and that was too much. I ran. What if she’s repulsed? What if she doesn’t want to know? I mean, I absolutely know she loves me and supports me, but what if it’s like the whole thing… you know, like: _I’m not homophobic. I don’t care what the goddamn queers do as long as they do it in the privacy of their own bedrooms and keep it off the streets._ I mean, I’m not saying she’s homophobic, she’s absolutely not, but, like, you know the mindset, right? In this case, maybe dressing this way is too much. What if she’s embarrassed someone she knows might see me? What if she cares what the family think? What if she’s hoping I won’t sit down to dinner like this tonight? And what about Dad?’

‘Ed adores you, Fogs. Your mom does, too. Maybe you’d have found it easier if you’d talked to them about all of this first, but maybe it’s just going to take them by surprise for a while. It doesn’t mean they’re thinking terrible things about you. I don’t think they’re capable of that.’

‘Yeah, you’re probably right. Of course you are. Thanks, buddy.’ Foggy reached out and poked Matt’s leg. ‘Although, honestly, I was kind of expecting a strategic distraction. You’re usually good at those.’

That kind of hurt, even though Foggy wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true. He’d said it lightly enough that it wasn’t meant to be an insult, but Matt still didn’t know how to respond. He made a noncommittal sound while he tried to work it out, but Foggy spoke first.

‘No, it’s a good thing. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I can be a bit like a sleepy toddler sometimes. I’m fine… I’m fine… I’m fine, until _bam_ everything gets too much and I launch into unreasonable meltdown mode. Sometimes I just need to whine and talk myself out, but other times I get caught in a spiral. That’s when a shiny toy helps.’

Matt raised an eyebrow, though Foggy probably couldn’t see it over the horrible aviators. ‘Am I seriously the shiny toy in this protracted simile?’

‘So shiny. All the bells and whistles, Murdock.’

‘Fine. But just so you know, you’re not allowed to drool on me.’

‘Ha! You wish! Sorry, buddy, but I was the kind of toddler who’d flush things to make them disappear! Ooh, and one time I put a stuffed pig in an old ice-cream tub full of water and froze it. Yikes! I kept that poor little critter on ice for months. I’m not sure what that was about. Whatever it was, it possibly wasn’t too healthy.’

‘You’re not going to freeze me. Not even for science.’ Matt sat up and crossed his legs so that he could move closer. Despite Foggy’s rapid-fire conversational gymnastics, Matt hadn’t missed that there were genuine fears and insecurities driving the outburst. He wanted to say something to let Foggy know that he didn’t need to doubt himself. Matt was sure, even based on the few descriptions he’d been given, that Foggy was beautiful when he let himself make the choices he wanted to make – but maybe that was an offensive thing to think. He didn’t usually think of men as beautiful, and he wasn’t quite able to stop thinking of Foggy as a man, although the idea felt less confronting than it had at first. He didn’t really understand his own thoughts on the subject and he knew he wouldn’t be able to come up with the right thing to say to put Foggy at ease. ‘And I’m still not going skateboarding,’ he said, because it was safe and it would help. Strategic distraction.

Foggy groaned, but he reached out and shoved Matt’s shoulder at the same time. ‘Don’t provoke me, Murdock. Toddler, remember. I know you’re not going skateboarding and I’m sorry for whining at you.’

‘You weren’t whining. Maybe projecting a little.’

‘Pff… a little, he says!’

‘Fine, you were projecting a lot,’ Matt said, but his mind was suddenly elsewhere. Foggy threw something that bounced off Matt’s cheek before it registered as a bundle of dry grass and leaves. ‘Hold on. Do you actually own a motorcycle?’

‘Eh, kind of. Technically it’s Dad’s. He inherited it from his Uncle Bert, but he doesn’t ride it much. I used to ride it to school all the time, but also just for fun.’

That… was not something Matt had expected.

‘Good grief! What’s with that look?! Is it so unbelievable? When you met me I looked like a stoner.’

‘I didn’t notice. I must have been distracted by the fact that you said something about my eyes getting knocked out, and then flirted with me.’

‘C’mon. That wasn’t flirting. It was ogling. Besides, I backed off the second you reacted like a terrified straight boy. But, seriously, are you really going to tell me queer stoners can’t ride motorcycles, because you know where this conversation is headed if you provoke the toddler, Matthew. It’s not going to be pretty. I can reprise the whole existential crisis, I assure you. It has layers.’

‘Take me for a ride,’ Matt said.

‘What?’

‘On your motorcycle. Take me for a ride.’ Matt could feel the heat rush to his face. Just the thought of speed and motion, wind and noise was intoxicating.

‘Yeah, I got that. Huh…. Wouldn’t it be, like, way too loud and windy and shit, though?’

‘Everything’s loud, all the time. Constant noise is more bearable than relative quiet broken by unpredictable blasts. I don’t think it’d be a huge problem.’

‘I haven’t ridden in a while.’

‘I can’t see why not. I’ve heard that hiding from the things you want to do is bullshit.’

‘Yeah,’ Foggy said. ‘Maybe it is.’


	13. Entranced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes a random drawing of Foggy, because I've spent more time this week drawing than writing :) The picture is based on a photo of Elden Henson from his role as Pollux in The Hunger Games. The drawing turned out a bit more conservative than I imagine Foggy at this stage of the story, but maybe it's how he'll dress for court one day.

Image description: Portrait-style pencil drawing of a young adult with neatly braided hair, wearing a blouse with softly gathered sleeves and yoke. He's wearing simple stud earrings and also a triple chain necklace.

 

 

Foggy was having the _best_ break. It was probably strange—inappropriate or whatever—because Matt was kind of pensive sometimes and definitely not as relaxed as he pretended to be, but even _that_ felt right. Foggy was well accustomed to the knowledge that even when things were tough, there was comfort at home. It felt good to know Matt had been made a part of that, like a chick brought under wing… a floopy, fluffy, slightly bewildered but endearingly earnest, adorable chick… who, in peak form, was more like an eagle or a dragon or… the point was, Matt wasn’t helpless, just a bit wobbly legged and dewy right now, but he was where he should be, so it was good.

During the day, they mostly messed around at the apartment or went on small expeditions—“ _yes, Matt, an Expedition: we’re looking for the North Pole, it probably smells like reindeer pee and candy cane, and with_ your _super-sniffer you’re totally qualified to find it, in fact I appoint you Expedition Leader”_ —so things were good! So good.

Good. Yep. And it wasn’t cowardice that had led to the temporary postponement of acting upon Matt’s entirely rational suggestion that Foggy should talk to his folks about the variable fashion situation. Timing was everything, and the few times his mom had given him a _should we talk_ look, the moment hadn’t been right.

Everyone had a lot going on.

Even without fitting in time for a motorcycle ride.

Matt hadn’t mentioned it after the park, and Foggy hadn’t either. He _had_ snuck down to the garage one evening while his dad and Matt were busy with their game. The bike was as he’d left it: clean and undamaged. He’d kicked the engine over, just to check, and it had started fine. His dad must have been riding it enough to keep the battery alive then.

It was a blue and black Vulcan 750, approaching twenty years old; not a stylish bike but reliable and comfortable to ride. In his late teens it had felt like freedom and power, and Foggy had loved it – until he’d noticed that a whole new range of people were circling in his orbit. Some of them were good people, some not so much, but either way he wasn’t who they thought he was. He didn’t _want_ to be.

The motorcycle became just a mode of transport, and eventually Foggy had decided he’d rather stand on a crowded bus or train. Anonymity in the pack, and all.

But! That was the past. These days he was all about moving forward – at his own pace, which was, in fact, more mature and productive than pushing on and winging it. He _would_ talk to his parents, and he _would_ take Matt for a ride, and he would do both those things when he was _ready_. It was the very opposite of avoidance. Siobhan would agree. Maybe. Except, instead of agreeing, she’d actually push him to examine what he was afraid of. But, ha! Foggy would be ready for her because he knew exactly the answer to that! Columbia was a bubble; an itty bitty microcosm of mostly twenty-somethings and academics. A year out of Columbia and he’d probably never see most of those people again. Now, though, he was in his parents’ neighbourhood, where Nelson’s Hardware was part of the landscape and his mom and dad were part of a network of friends and neighbours who were invested in each other’s lives. And… also… these were his parents, who almost certainly loved him too much to admit if they were uncomfortable. So! No pressure! None. At. All. He would move forward. Soon.

In the meantime, goofing around with Matt was fabulous. Like, actually the most fun, ever. Foggy almost wished Candi could be home to join in. She’d be so excited! Also, they could team up and _maybe_ have a chance of defeating the impossible dork. Except they couldn’t, of course, because Matt would go all mild-mannered-blind-man if Candi was around.

Fortunately, even without little sister’s backup, there were areas where Foggy’s skills shone through. For the last few days he’d insisted on preparing the evening meals, and Matt had been happy to help. Beyond happy, actually, because Matt genuinely wanted to do something nice for Foggy’s folks – to the point where he always questioned whether the meal would reheat well when Foggy’s mom got home from work.

Matt had kitchen skills, too. He just hadn’t cooked many full meals by himself before. Between the two of them they were totally acing it.

Their current offering was stuffed cabbage rolls served with a three bean salad and slaw, complete with _homemade_ mayo. The kitchen smelled fantastic with the warm tomato, basil and garlic hanging in the air.

Matt was slicing the salad vegetables, but he paused with the knife over the board.

‘Are you going to wash the beans, Fog?’

‘Hmm? Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’m just….’

‘Staring.’

So, cooking with Matt involved one _tiny_ problem.

‘Yeah. Sorry, buddy. You caught me. I know it probably makes me a jerk, but it gets me every time. Especially when you’re handling a knife like that. You could be a surgeon with that kind of precision.’

‘It’s fine, Fog.’

Foggy deflated. Even after the fiasco of their trip to the city, Matt was so patient with Foggy’s endless tests and games and curiosity – and it was fun, exciting, awesome…. But. There was a little voice in his head that was becoming kind of emphatic, because his giddy fascination wasn’t diminishing. Not at all.

‘But it’s not fine, really, is it?’ he said. ‘I mean, it’s a bit like the obnoxious belief that intelligence only happens in English. I must have some unconscious idea that vision makes me uniquely capable of skilful activity, because when you do things like that, I’m way more impressed than I should be. It’s patronising.’

‘Nah,’ Matt said, and he didn’t sound even a little bit conflicted. ‘You throw things at my head all the time. Either you truly want to hurt me or you have absolute faith in my ability to do things my way. The knife thing is just because vision’s your safety net and you’ve been taught that knives are dangerous.’

Foggy _hmm_ ed. It was possible that the everyday aspect of what Matt was doing was part of it. All the backflippy acrobatics were amazing in a different way. They were things Foggy couldn't imagine being able to do, so they'd become _Matt things_ in his mind.

Matt returned to pretty much making matchsticks out of bell pepper, and Foggy tried to focus on washing the beans, but Matt’s brow was doing a thing. Foggy waited.

‘Fog, I’m not sure it’s wrong to be entranced by something unexpected or unfamiliar. It’s not like you’re telling me to be careful or to put the knife down. It doesn’t really bother me. If you stare, I mean. I shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘Thanks, buddy. It’s just, ever since you told me about _your thing_ , I feel like I spend a lot of time gawking. I mean, I did before as well—which you probably already knew—and at first it was alright because I’d never spent time with a person who’s blind before and curiosity is a thing, you know? But now there’s a whole lot more to be wowed by, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. I know you said you don’t want people making a fuss over things that are just normal for you, and I’m probably the worst offender. I get so excited by it all.’

Matt pushed the finished pepper-sticks to the side. He grabbed a carrot and fussed with it for a while. ‘Fogs?’

‘Yeah?’

‘You don’t fetishise my blindness. If that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve met people who do. You’re nothing like them.’

Foggy felt the slight prickle of tears as he took a deep breath. He hadn’t realised how much he’d needed to address the fear that had been building behind his stupid boundless enthusiasm. ‘It feels like a fine line, sometimes, buddy,’ he said. ‘And I don’t love myself for it.’

Matt put down the knife and began straightening the already neat piles of sliced vegetables. ‘I, um, I like the clothes you’re wearing, when you… the way you do your hair, and, I mean, I don’t usually know the details but the couple times you’ve told me. I… I thought it was just wanting to get a sense of something that’s important to you, and also you sound so much more confident and happy, which I really like, but I’ve been thinking about it since the other day, and… hmm… maybe it’s like the knife thing because sometimes I just really want to know what you’re wearing... and if that’s… I’m sorry. I don’t really understand it myself… so, ah, you shouldn’t feel bad for staring when I cook. Like I said, I think you’re just entranced by something unfamiliar.’

They finished cooking without much conversation – not that they didn’t talk, but after a brief and confused acknowledgement from Foggy they stuck to their more familiar daily banter. In the gaps in between, Foggy’s mind was not filled with serenity. He wondered if he should be angry… insulted… thrilled. Was he some kind of curiosity to Matt? Had Foggy been insensitive for not realising his _blind_ best friend, who was nothing but supportive, might want a description from time to time. And how would that have gone? It wasn’t like they usually discussed their wardrobes. Mostly, Foggy was perplexed. Did their current conversation seriously come down to _you’re not being a creep because I’m being a creep too_? Or was Matt right? Was it just that it was natural to be entranced— _and wasn’t that the word for it_ —by someone compellingly different from yourself? Except, Foggy wasn’t sure he’d have the same response if it was anyone but Matt. His sense of awe seemed completely intertwined with the fondness and admiration he felt for Matt in particular. And maybe that was the answer.

‘You should think about staying for the rest of the summer,’ he said.

They were almost finished cooking. Matt was rinsing dishes and stacking them by the side of the sink.

‘I’d lose my deposit with housing,’ he said. ‘And it wouldn’t be like now. I’d have to work.’

‘Yeah.’

‘And I’d have to check with Ed and Anna.’

‘You _know_ they want you to stay.’

‘Yeah. I know. I’ll... I’ll think about it.’

0  0  0

‘Ed told me I should stay. He brought it up last night.’

It was a warm day and Matt had just reappeared after exercising in his room. He’d showered, and his hair was hanging heavy and flat from the moisture he obviously hadn’t bothered to towel away. He looked defiant and vulnerable, like somebody’s kid brother standing just inside the living room doorway, nervous that if he called attention to himself he’d be sent away. Or maybe he just looked like himself – like someone Foggy wanted to hold on to until everything was fine.

‘You should stay,’ Foggy said. ‘You know we all want you here. What’s the problem, buddy?’

‘Three months isn’t a visit, Fog. It’s longer than any foster placement I ever had. Ed’s spending most of his free time with me. Your parents haven’t had guests since I arrived, even though I know that’s not normal for them. They’re feeding me, I’m increasing their utility bills, but they won’t let me contribute financially. They think I’m such a sweet boy who they want to take care of, but they don’t know anything about me. They don’t know that I’m lying to them – that while they’re going to the trouble of being accommodating and inclusive, I’m running around the apartment, jumping over furniture and catching fruit that’s thrown at my head! They don’t know that I could listen in to every one of their conversations if I chose to. They don’t know that I’m aware of when they last had sex. They think I’m a _good kid_. Doesn’t it bother you that I’m lying to them?’

‘Honestly, Matt, I feel like it _should_ bother me but it really doesn’t. I’m just so glad you’re here, buddy. More than that, I know for sure Mom and Dad would prefer you to keep your secrets and stay, than have you decide you should leave.’

‘That’s…’ Matt began, but then stopped. He finally came fully into the room and flopped on the couch beside Foggy. He seemed resigned, which probably meant he knew it was the truth.

‘They will legit pine if you go back to campus housing, buddy, but it’s your choice. You need to do what’s right for you.’ Also the truth. Foggy reminded himself that Matt was the only person who could decide what was right for Matt.

0  0  0

Saturday morning, Foggy was still unsure what Matt would decide to do. He was due to leave on Sunday. The two of them had just finished the breakfast cleanup and Matt’s mind was clearly elsewhere, but Foggy wasn’t going to ask. They’d planned to go for a walk. Matt would probably say something then. Foggy reminded himself that either outcome would be fine.

As they left the kitchen, though, Matt grabbed Foggy’s arm.

‘Could we go to the lounge?’ he said.

‘Of course.’

Matt’s grip was firm as they walked, but he let go as they entered the room.

‘Can you sit down, Fog?’

Huh.

Foggy joined his mom on the lounge, and she put her tablet aside as he sat. His dad was in one of the armchairs nearby.

 _You’re probably wondering why I’ve gathered you all here today_ … Foggy thought. It was possibly a hysterical reaction. Matt was standing just inside the doorway, but he couldn’t have looked more different than he had a few days ago.

‘Ed, Anna, sorry for interrupting,’ he said. ‘I’d like to talk to you if that’s alright.’

‘Of course, sweetheart. Come and sit.’

‘Thank you, Ed, but I’d rather stand, for now. I’d be grateful if you could hear me out and I’ll answer any questions you’d like after that.’

Foggy stared at Matt. He wanted to jump up and squeal at what he knew was coming, but fortunately he was transfixed by the heroic dork across the room. Matt was totally going to do this! Foggy’s parents had given their bemused agreement and Matt was standing there, ready to present his case.

He adjusted his glasses and straightened his back.

‘When Foggy invited me home with him, I assumed I’d spend a couple weeks making polite dinner conversation and enjoying some time away from campus. It hasn’t been like that at all. You didn’t just welcome me into your home. You’ve included me in your daily lives. You don’t treat me like a blind man, or even Foggy’s friend. You treat me like a person – issues and all. I didn’t come here planning to talk about anything of significance but it feels right that I have, and I can’t tell you how unexpected that is.’

Matt looked comfortable. Fond. Sincere. Foggy, on the other hand, was possibly not breathing quite right. He wanted to see how his parents were reacting but he couldn’t drag his gaze away from Matt.

‘But now you’ve made it clear that I’m welcome to stay,’ Matt said, ‘and I need you to know that the respect and forthrightness you’ve offered me goes both ways. I didn’t feel like I could do that before, and I’m sorry. Sometimes honesty has a price and I didn’t feel ready to take that chance. But if I’m going to stay—and I’d like to—there are some things you need to know. You can choose whether the invitation is still open once you understand what having me here really entails.

‘The accident that took my sight involved some kind of liquid that was being transported in barrels. In the collision, a barrel burst open and spilled its contents over me. The most immediate effect was the result of the liquid getting in my eyes. For a short time everything became stark and sharp, then blackness crept in and the light never returned. Obviously, loosing one’s eyesight is a dramatic experience and, given that there were no other physical injuries, that’s where the doctors directed their attention.

‘And I was overwhelmed for a while, of course, and didn’t notice that there’d been other effects. In any case, they only became apparent gradually. I assume that’s because they were the result of the systemic impact of the toxin rather than its immediate topical effect.

‘Within months, all of my other senses began to improve. I was busy relearning my independence, relearning how to read. At first I didn’t trust my own instinct that something wasn’t normal. I never mentioned it to my dad. I’d already given him enough to deal with.

‘By the time he was gone, and I was at Saint Agnes’, the increased sensory input had become so intense that it was more than I could stand. I was losing my mind. That’s when Stick came into my life. He taught me how to filter the constant stream of input, how to use it to navigate the world.

‘I can’t see, but I’m really nothing like other blind people. If you walked down to the corner and spoke at a normal volume, I could hear you if I tried. I can hear your heartbeats. I can hear the neighbours on either side, and their neighbours beyond that. My sense of smell, touch, taste – all of them are equally strong. They’re enough to provide me with an accurate understanding of the space around me. I don’t actually need my cane or a guide to get around.

‘Fog, toss me the remote,’ Matt said.

For a moment, Foggy didn’t register the request, then he wondered why Matt wanted to turn on the television right now. When his brain finally caught up, he laughed. He grabbed the thing and threw it at Matt’s head. Beside him, his mom gasped. Matt caught the remote easily and tossed it carefully a few times, letting it flip in the air before closing his hand around it. His face soon turned serious though, and he walked over and handed the remote to Foggy before taking a seat in the empty armchair.

‘The reason I’m telling you all this is that I’m not comfortable deceiving you, but also, and more importantly, you have a right to know. I assure you that since I’ve been here I’ve done everything I can to respect your privacy. I can’t avoid hearing, but I can choose not to listen, if that makes sense. Also, I use my Ipod as white noise when I’m alone so that my attention doesn’t wander. There are some things I can’t avoid knowing, though, because my brain identifies them immediately and the information is just there. That includes things like sexual arousal, recent sexual activity, digestive issues, illness, anxiety, anger… I’m sure you get the picture. Like I said, I can’t avoid knowing some things, but I tend not to dwell on them. It’s not as interesting as people might assume, being constantly swamped by the intimate details of everyone’s lives. It became routine years ago.

‘That doesn’t mean that you have to be comfortable with having me in your home, though. I realise my presence is invasive just because of the way I am. As I said before, I’m sorry I didn’t feel able to tell you this when I first arrived. If you’d prefer I leave, I’ll understand entirely.’

There was silence for a drawn out minute. Matt looked calm and kind of blank, but Foggy could see his fingers twitching against his thigh. He wondered what cues Matt was reading and if they were to blame for the tic. He turned to see what response his parents had, but his mom was already up and moving. She sat on the arm of Matt’s chair and put an arm around him. She had tears on her cheeks.

‘Oh, Matt. That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard. I know I shouldn’t worry, but I’ve been so anxious about what it must be like for you, living in a city like this. Not that I don’t think you’re capable, sweetheart, I know you are, but I just want you to be safe. I want things to be easy for you. I’m sorry. I’m rambling. It’s just such a relief.’

She’d moved from hugging Matt to running a hand over his back. The way she was looking at him, Foggy was certain she was moments away from holding his cheeks and kissing his forehead. It was kind of hilarious. Matt’s expression was photo-worthy, except Foggy wasn’t that much of an insensitive jerk. He’d make do with revisiting the memory over and over until it stuck.

He turned to his dad, expecting him to be equally amused. He was wrong.

Foggy hadn’t often seen his dad get worked up. Edward Nelson was no saint, but he wasn’t someone who believed that raised voices and clenched fists were likely to solve a problem. At the moment, though, he looked like it was a struggle to stay in his seat – and not because he wanted to give Matt a hug.

‘So, _that man_ came along after you’d lost your sight, your father, and your home… while you were suffering from some kind of chemical side effect that sent your whole body into crisis… and instead of arranging proper medical care he bullied and belittled you until you made yourself cope.’

‘Ed. That’s not going to help.’ Foggy’s mom had stopped fussing over Matt and was looking stern.

‘Well, what am I supposed to say, Anna? You heard what Matt just told us.’

‘I did. He told us that some miracle has given him abilities that, I’m sure, don’t make up for the loss of sight, but must go a long way towards making life easier. No one I deal with at work gets that kind of silver lining. It’s fantastic! I’m so happy to hear about it.’

‘Of course I’m glad about it, too. It just makes what that man-’

‘I know you are. You’re also angry, and it’s making you say things Matt might not be comfortable with you saying in front of me.’

‘Jesus. I’m sorry, Matt. I didn’t mean to-’

‘It’s fine,’ Matt said. ‘But can we not talk about that right now? Please?’ Matt looked a little lost surrounded by the intensity of their reactions.

‘Of course. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just don’t understand how-’

‘Ed. This is good news.’ Foggy’s mom said.

‘Right. Good news. Of course it is.’ His dad obviously meant it, but it was taking a while for the anger to dissipate.

‘Do you… ah… do you understand what I was telling you? About what this means?’ Matt said.

‘I’m sure I don’t fully understand the details, darling, but I understand the broader implications.’ Foggy’s mom put a hand on Matt’s cheek and stared at him like she was studying him. ‘Actually, it makes a lot of sense. I had no idea, obviously, but there have been a few times I’ve been surprised by the way you do things, or the way you seem to notice things I wouldn’t expect. You’re not entirely like the other people I’ve met who are blind.’

‘You should see him when he’s not holding back! His senses give him this amazing three-sixty degree awareness, and he’s so agile from all the working out and training that he moves like-

‘Fog!’ Matt said, at the same time as Foggy’s mom spoke.

‘You knew? No, wait. Of course you did,’ she said. Which was a convenient opportunity for diversion because, for some reason, talking about the martial arts thing was a no go? Oh, right. Probably because his dad was still angry about the very existence of Stick. Foggy could definitely sympathise with _that_ frame of mind.

‘Yeah. Matt told me a while after mid-term break,’ he said. ‘He, ah… you know this has to be a secret, right? Other than us, there are only two people who know about it.’

‘You don’t understand what I’m telling you!’ Matt sounded a bit desperate. ‘Foggy, could you do the three truths, one lie thing?’

‘I could, but I don’t think they need to see that, buddy.’ Foggy sighed. Matt’s overwhelmed confusion was less amusing now. He clearly couldn’t believe that no one was horrified by what he’d revealed. Fortunately, Foggy was uniquely qualified to bridge the gap.

‘Mom, Dad – Matt wants you to know that he can tell if anyone lies to him because it causes a brief surge in their heart rate and some small changes to skin temperature, et cetera, et cetera… things that I can’t imagine even noticing. He thinks you should be bothered, but _as I’ve told him before_ , _he_ can’t lie for shit because anyone who can see his face knows at a glance. Most people can’t pull off a really important lie without some kind of visible tell, and I doubt it’s worth putting the effort into super-sensing the kind of everyday convenience lies that most people deal in. Also, the whole polygraph thing has some serious flaws which have been researched and reported at length.

‘Next: Matt can super-sense arousal and other intimate details. Buddy, honestly, I’ve watched you flirt and I can tell if you’re _really interested_ , or if you’re just having fun. You’re not the only one who can detect these things. And most people, even non-male ones, experience arousal fairly frequently. People masturbate. People have sex. These are truths that we’re embracing because the internet has made us bold, brave and honest. We can cope if you know these things.

‘Also: Illness. Matt tries to be stoic when he’s sick, but it’s obvious, just like it is when anyone’s under the weather. And alright, I can’t smell disease or whatever but I can’t see how that’s invasive. It’s kind of comforting, actually. If you ever think any of us should be running to a doctor, buddy, please let us know: early detection and all.

‘And finally, Matt thinks his _existence_ is invasive because he can hear all the conversations going on around him but, from what I understand, he’d still have to choose to focus on one. If I choose to listen to private conversations, I can do that, too. Not over such a wide range, but I hardly think that’s the point. And like you said, buddy, the vast majority of it’s not interesting enough to bother. So, did I miss anything?’

Matt was visibly working at processing Foggy’s comprehensive and, frankly, awesome challenge to the spectrum of Murdock insecurities. His fingers were tapping against his thighs and his face was angled away from Foggy’s mom and towards the ground. Perhaps it was the obvious display of overwhelmedness that made her move back to the couch to give Matt some space.

‘Matt, honey,’ she said, ‘it’s not that I’m disregarding your concerns. I’m sure, when I get a moment to myself, I’ll probably feel a little embarrassed about some of the implications of what you’ve told us. But what you don’t seem to understand, sweetheart, is that no amount of embarrassment is going to make me unhappy that you have these abilities. What kind of person would I have to be to prioritise some Victorian notion of modesty when you’re telling me that these abilities let you move around without your cane; when they allow you to know if something is going to _hit you in the head_?’ And that was accompanied by a totally unjust _look_ in Foggy’s direction – Matt had _told him_ to throw the remote. ‘It doesn’t matter if some of it’s confronting,’ she continued, ‘because none of it’s a deal breaker. I want you here, Matt, and I’m touched that you trusted us enough to tell us about all of this.’

‘She’s right, Matt,’ Foggy’s dad said. ‘I’m glad you talked to us, but it doesn’t change anything. It might be uncomfortable at times but it’s nothing I can’t get used to. Actually, it reminds me a bit of when Foggy was little. Anna and I never really had a honeymoon because he was already a toddler when we met. Hell, every stage of raising Foggy has made me examine and re-examine my ideas of privacy and invasiveness. If you never ask me what a vibrator is, you’re already ahead of the game.’

‘Don’t pout, Foggy, you know we love you,’ his mom added, even though Foggy was glad to hear his dad joke about it.

‘The truth is, I’d love you to stay, Matt,’ his dad said.

‘I… I’d really like that.’ And, yep. Matt still looked totally lost. Foggy wanted to drag him over to the couch where they could sprawl and let the day slide by. It seemed like a gentle option for giving Matt time to process. Foggy wondered how long it would take for the situation to sort itself out in Matt’s mind.

‘That’s wonderful, hon,’ his mom said.

‘Glad to hear it,’ his dad added.

‘There’s a lot of emotional looks going on right now,’ Foggy said, when the silence stretched. ‘But if there are no objections, Matt, buddy, _we_ are going to flop on the couch right here and begin listening to _Pyramids_ because Terry Pratchett is a genius. You’ll love it, I guarantee.’ Which was maybe taking advantage of Matt’s clearly bewildered state, but Foggy was sure once they got started, Matt would be hooked.

‘Right, then,’ Foggy’s dad said. ‘Anna, my love, how about we head off to a café or something. Obviously we’ll be talking about all of this, Matt, but I promise you nothing’s going to change. And we’ll be discreet, of course.’

‘If that’s alright with you, Matt, honey? We can stay if you’d prefer.’

‘No. No, it’s fine. I understand. I’ll just, ah…’

 ‘You’ll look after him, won’t you, sunshine?’

‘Of course, Dad. We’ll be fine.’

‘I know you will. Just don’t let him convince himself we’ve gone off to say what we really think. Matt, that isn’t something we’d ever do. You know that, right?’

There was no response.

‘Matt?’ Foggy prompted.

Matt seemed to drag his attention back to the conversation, but he must have already been listening enough to keep track.

‘I know, Ed. I trust you.’

‘Alright. That’s good to know, sweetheart. We’ll be back soon and we can talk some more if you’d like. Maybe go for a walk or something.’

The goodbyes and reassurances were kind of drawn out, but Foggy understood why. There was still a part of him that couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. Obviously it wouldn’t be appropriate to be all celebratory when Matt seemed kind of shell-shocked, but wow! Just wow!

Foggy grinned as he set up the audio on his Ipod and then dragged Matt to the couch and flopped against his side.


	14. Rationes

Matt spent most of the day stretched out on the lounge. Foggy provided a steady stream of audiobook, snacks and random chatter. He stayed close and Matt was relieved – he felt oddly distant from himself and everything around him.

He wasn’t sure why telling Ed and Anna had affected him more than telling Foggy had. At least this time it had been planned. Matt had gone over the things he wanted to say with the same careful scrutiny he applied to preparing arguments for class. He’d even practised his delivery.

And it wasn’t as though he’d expected anger. Not really. He wouldn’t have told them if he believed they were the kind of people who’d react too badly. He’d have chosen to leave, instead, if that were the case. He supposed he’d anticipated becoming some kind of uncomfortable oddity to them – a challenge they’d take on because they were good people. What he’d never imagined was anyone being relieved on his behalf. Matt had found himself wanting to be insulted by Anna’s reaction—it wasn’t as though people who were actually blind didn’t manage every day amid the bustle of New York—but he knew taking offense would be unreasonable. It made sense to be glad someone’s challenges were less than they’d seemed.

It did.

What Matt was struggling to accept was that their relief on his behalf overshadowed their discomfort for themselves. He found himself wondering how the next days and weeks would unfold. He couldn’t help remembering Foggy’s bout of anxiety when they’d gone to Central Park. The irrational anticipation of rejection or, at least, ill-disguised discomfort, felt a lot more understandable right now. And it _was_ irrational, Matt knew that. He’d allowed himself to track both Ed and Anna carefully while he’d spoken to them, and he knew their reactions had been genuine.

Matt had realised Foggy had no idea how unusual his easy affection and care for the people around him were, and he suspected Ed and Anna were the same. It was obvious why people like the Nelsons would struggle to understand people like Matt and Stick. He wondered what they’d have made of his dad. He wanted to believe that Ed and Jack would have gotten along, even though there were obvious differences in their approaches to life. It was sad to acknowledge, but Foggy wouldn’t have thrived growing up with Matt’s dad.

‘How can you look all miserable like that when there’s A-grade mummification humour going on, buddy? You can’t be listening, because I refuse to believe that this scene can give rise to that face.’

Matt forced a smile. ‘Sorry. I was distracted by all the casual blasphemy and false gods.’

‘Sure you were. Everything all right?’ Foggy had stopped the audio. He was leaning against the other arm of the couch, their legs sharing the centre. He nudged Matt’s thigh with his foot.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Uh huh… and?’ Foggy ran a hand over the top of Matt’s foot and left it resting on his ankle. It gave Matt something to focus on.

‘Your parents are… unusual.’

Foggy had texted them to say that he and Matt were fine and that they could stay out for the day if they wanted. There’d been a flurry of messages back and forth, but it was late afternoon and they hadn’t returned. Matt suspected they were giving him space. He knew he should feel uncomfortable about it, but he didn’t. There was something routine about their kindness. He didn’t take it for granted, but on some level he’s begun to accept that their personal ethics drove their choices. That wasn’t something he was inclined to argue against.

‘My parents are fucking awesome!’ Foggy said. ‘How did I forget that?’

Matt laughed. Foggy didn’t often swear unless he was worked up about something, but when he did, he owned it. It was unexpectedly sweet.

‘No, really, buddy,’ Foggy said. ‘Living in the dorms, I kind of forgot how important it is to have a solid base, you know? Not that there aren’t good people there, of course there are, and I love the endless opportunities to connect, but this… I shouldn’t have forgotten what I have here. I shouldn’t have doubted them.’

‘You deserve them, Fog. You’re fucking awesome, too,’ Matt said. He knew he hadn’t managed to match Foggy’s tone. There were too many nuns hanging over his shoulder. He’d probably always swear like a guilty Catholic boy, half pulling back the words even as they left his mouth.

Foggy laughed, almost certainly _at_ Matt instead of _with_ him. ‘ _We_ deserve them,’ he said. ‘After what you did this morning! That was amazing, buddy. I’m even glad you didn’t tell me you were going to do it, because the shock was part of the delight. I hope you realise there’s no escape now, Murdock. There’s no way they’re letting you go.’ He lifted his legs and dropped them down on top of Matt’s, possibly as a physical representation of Matt’s doom.

‘How ever will I cope?’ Matt said. He didn’t bother trying for deadpan, because he couldn’t keep the smile from his face.

‘Oh, my god! Look at you. You’re adorable!’

‘Fog.’ Matt knew he was blushing. He made a grab for Foggy’s foot, intending to distract him, but Foggy pulled away and Matt let him.

The couch cushions moved as Foggy resettled himself, upright now and with his legs crossed, but still facing Matt. ‘Seriously, though,’ he said. ‘You’re not the only one whose mind’s been elsewhere. I’ve been thinking. Mom and Dad actually are awesome, and that means _we_ have an opportunity. We have issues, Matt. Both of us. But I’m here, in the safest place I know, and this time I even have my best friend with me. I mean, I feel like you’re ahead of the game, because you’ve already been dragged out of your comfort zone and you’re handling it like a champ, but I was thinking. We could make a pact. Now that my parents know your stuff, and they already knew mine: no holding back. We both be ourselves, even when it’s uncomfortable. What do you say?’

Be himself. Matt wasn’t quite sure what that would entail. Obviously he wouldn’t be feeling his way around or counting steps now that Ed and Anna knew, but he’d hardly be announcing everything he could hear or smell. Still, he could give it a try.

‘Sure,’ he said.

‘Yeah, no, buddy. That was way too casual. Whatever it is you think you just agreed to, that’s not it.’

‘Uh…’

‘Exactly! That confused look. That’s what I’m talking about! You have no idea!’ Foggy said. He sounded exasperated. ‘Matt, these last couple weeks I’ve seen a side of you I didn’t even know existed! Even with all the stupid challenges I threw at you in the dorm, and the awesome martial arts display, I still had no clue how much you were holding back.

‘Look, I don’t want to make you self-conscious, buddy, but just hear me out. The thing is, when you give yourself the freedom, you don’t really move like other people. You stand with a slightly different posture, move your head differently, you have this kind of alertness, like you’re focused on what your whole body is telling you. You become more fluid. Now that I know more about what’s going on, I can tell that your attention’s spread all around, far wider than just the room you’re in. And you should be able to _be_ that. You’re strong and agile and kind of breathtakingly graceful, by the way, just saying. You should be able to move freely. And if you want to tap along to a tune that’s playing a block away, or answer questions out loud when the neighbours are watching Jeopardy, you should be able to do that, too. Now that Mom and Dad know, you don’t have to hold yourself back whenever they’re around.’

‘Are you suggesting I should scramble over the furniture more often? Maybe cartwheel to breakfast?’ Matt said.

‘Yeah, yeah. I speak fluent Murdockian, buddy. When you start being a smartass it means you need time to think… but do think about it because, you know, even with me, you sometimes default to the charade. You don’t have to wait for me to challenge you to some mad contest for you to let yourself go. Aaannd I’m pushing. How about I put the story back on so you can miss the rest of the embalming?’ Foggy said. He stretched out again, flinging one leg over Matt’s and leaving it there.

‘I accept,’ Matt said. ‘The pact, I mean. You might have to prod me, if you’re willing, but, yeah. Alright. Why not? I’ll walk to the dinner table on my hands if you take me for a ride on your bike tomorrow.’

‘Ha! You just failed Negotiation 101, my friend. I’d already decided to do that! But because I’m a decent sort, I’ll play fair. No need to go all carnivalesque about it. You let yourself behave like you would if no one was around, and I’ll dress like I would if no one cared.’

‘Deal,’ Matt said, even though most of his precautions and façades were automatic and relatively unconscious. It would take some effort to recognise them and let them go.

 

Foggy didn’t wait until dinner that night to change his clothes. He didn’t describe his outfit to Matt, though, and Matt wasn’t sure whether to be bothered or relieved. They hadn’t talked about Matt’s confused… confession, maybe… and that was definitely a good thing. Matt was no closer to understanding what he might say if they did. The closest comparison he could find was the way his mind sparked when he read rationes decidendi that took the letter of the law and turned it into acts of justice. It required a particular finesse and certitude to use mundane tools and shape something that rang with its own integrity. He couldn’t tell Foggy that, though. Matt doubted it would make sense to anyone else, and it didn’t fully express what he felt. He didn’t know what would.

Best if he focused on his own end of their agreement, anyway. Ed had texted to say they were on their way home, and Foggy had asked if Matt could give him some time to talk to them when they returned. He’d sounded tense, but Matt understood there was nothing he could offer. This was something Foggy needed to handle for himself. Still, Matt gave his shoulder a squeeze before heading upstairs.

It was extremely difficult to choose not to listen in once Ed and Anna arrived, but Matt made himself focus on the podcast he’d found. It was about the possible legal issues arising from developments in artificial intelligence. Some of the ideas seemed a little far-fetched, but it was interesting as a hypothetical.

Foggy came to give the all-clear sooner than Matt expected. Although he wasn’t jubilant, he assured Matt that everything was fine. Still, Matt couldn’t help feeling concerned when, instead of dragging him downstairs, Foggy curled up at the end of the bed and told him to go back to what he’d been doing. Matt hesitated, but did as Foggy asked.

By the time the podcast was over, Foggy had wriggled up and buried his face against the side of Matt’s knee, with one arm wrapped around Matt’s lower legs. Matt switched off his Ipod and put it aside. He remembered Foggy’s comment about strategic distraction, and knew that wasn’t what he wanted to be. He reached down and ran his fingers tentatively over Foggy’s hair. Almost immediately, Foggy took a gasping breath and began to cry. Matt’s first instinct was to pull away. His second was to find something to say that might shift Foggy’s focus from whatever was upsetting him.

It took some clumsy manoeuvring but Matt rearranged them until he was lying on his back, with Foggy tucked against his side. Foggy had an arm wrapped tightly around Matt’s chest, and his face pressed into Matt’s shoulder. His breathing had a strangely mechanical rhythm that shuddered on the way in and out. Matt returned to brushing his fingers over Foggy’s hair. It was crisp and wavy, which meant he couldn’t properly comb through it, but he hoped the sensation was soothing.

Eventually, Foggy stopped crying and his breathing softened. He pushed up and leaned across Matt to grope for the tissue box on the bedside table. Once he’d blown his nose—accompanied by weak jokes about assaulting Matt’s delicate super-hearing—he flopped back down and returned to his previous position. This time, though, he practically burrowed into Matt’s armpit, which couldn’t have been pleasant.

‘Happy tears,’ he said, and Matt could just barely make out the words.

‘Relieved tears,’ Matt suggested, even though he was sure there was more to it than that.

‘Maybe.’ Foggy lifted his head and seemed to be looking at Matt. ‘Have you ever wanted someone to lie to you?’

Matt thought about it. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. There’d been times when he’d desperately wanted to hear a different truth, but that wasn’t the same.

‘Right. Well. Dad said he’s a little bit uncomfortable with this. Not… he doesn’t want me to change anything. He said it’s on him to get past whatever conditioning made him feel weird when he saw me, but he wanted to be honest. He said he’ll work it out and that he loves me and that I shouldn’t do anything different, and then he hugged me like he wanted to drag me back into the womb. Mom said she was shocked the other day, but it wasn’t a big deal. She was upset that we hadn’t talked about it since then, but said she was trying to respect my boundaries – not a sentence I’ve ever heard from her before, so I’m pretty sure she’s maybe kidding herself a little bit. Bottom line, they’re both super accepting and, also, kind of uncomfortable when they look at me. You know what? I don’t want to talk any more,’ Foggy said. There were tears in his voice again. He buried his face against Matt’s shoulder, and Matt instinctively rolled onto his side so he could pull Foggy closer.

He couldn't deny that he struggled to integrate some of Foggy´s ideas about gender, so he knew it was probably unfair to be annoyed at Ed and Anna. He knew, rationally, that they’d been honest, and that they loved and accepted Foggy. Things would be fine. But as Matt lay there, carefully smoothing a hand along Foggy’s back, he couldn’t help formulating a rather forceful statement about the constant tension Foggy had dealt with at Columbia; about all the overheard insults, all the insensitive comments and questions he’d been subjected to; about how someone as generous and vibrant as Foggy shouldn’t have to constantly brace himself against disapproval. Matt refused to believe that being able to see would make him understand Ed’s discomfort, however slight.

He tightened his hold and pressed his face against Foggy’s hair. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said. ‘You are. Please don’t dismiss what I think because I’m blind. I know you are.’

Foggy started crying again, but he tightened his grip on Matt at the same time, so Matt didn’t think he’d said anything wrong. They stayed that way for what felt like a long time. It was intimate and awkward, but Matt didn’t dislike it.

‘I’m not a crier,’ Foggy said, after a while. His voice was rough with proof to the contrary. ‘Not usually,’ he added.

Matt could relate. He’d cried more in the last two weeks than he had in a long time. Even when Elektra left he’d been more numb than sad.

‘It’s fine,’ he said, ‘don’t worry about it.’ He released his hold on Foggy, but ran a hand over Foggy’s hair one more time before leaning back to make space between them. Foggy yawned. Although it had been years, Matt knew what it was like to cry until he slept.

Just as he thought he should leave Foggy to nap, though, Foggy roused himself and wriggled back to put more space between them. Matt could tell Foggy was looking at him, and the small distance became more uncomfortable than their previous closeness had been. He wanted to sit up and turn away, but he didn’t move. Finally, Foggy broke the silence.

‘I’m just going to say it… ask it… and whatever you say is fine, it really is, but is there… am I imagining it or are things maybe changing here?’

That… that was… Matt really wanted to pull away. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Maybe.’ He wasn’t sure where the word had come from. He hadn’t been thinking it, hadn’t meant to say it. Even so, he didn’t want to take it back. ‘I… I don’t know. I’m not…. Can we not….’

‘Yeah. Yeah, of course,’ Foggy said. He sounded genuine and warm; so much calmer than Matt’s racing heart and shallow breaths.

‘Is there… ah… do you…’ Matt said, even though he’d just tried to end the conversation. He wasn’t making much sense, but it was all he could manage. Foggy squeezed his arm.

‘Relax, buddy. It’s alright. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Look, as far as I’m concerned, you’re in my life for good. Honestly, I’m a bit lost right now and I’m not sure I’m in a great place to decide what’s best for me… but yeah. I’ve thought about it, and whatever form this takes, I’m in. Just to be clear, that includes a grand platonic friendship for the ages. That’s not a problem at all. Never will be.’

Matt turned onto his stomach and rested his forehead against the pillow. He felt self-conscious and slow. He wondered if Foggy spent any time struggling with barely-formed thoughts; wondered if Foggy ever completely failed to understand his own feelings, because even Foggy’s anxiety seemed to be driven by too much analysis and too many competing possibilities.

Maybe Matt was emotionally stunted.

It was so frustrating! If there was more to this, he would have got there on his own, eventually. Everything was unfamiliar and complicated and he really didn’t know how he felt, but he wasn’t an idiot. And he _hated_ knowing people were aware of his struggle while he was still trying to work things through. It reminded him of all the times when he was relearning to be independent, all those well-meaning OT’s and teachers standing back and watching him work out how to avoid falling on his face, how to read, how to take notes, how to organise his things so he could manage everyday tasks. Stick’s hard-line approach had been such a relief after all that cautious anticipation and condescending support.

_Then pull yourself together_ , he told himself, even though he knew it wasn’t as simple as that. _Break it down and figure it out._

He’d liked lying close and touching Foggy’s hair, feeling Foggy’s breath against his skin, but he’d felt protective and concerned. At the same time, he’d really wanted Foggy to accept not just that he was beautiful, but that Matt thought so. That was becoming a familiar desire. He wasn’t sure what it meant, though, because it wasn’t attached to any sense of arousal.

‘It’s alright, Matt,’ Foggy said. He placed a hand on Matt’s back and just rested it there. ‘My self-esteem isn’t riding on this, and nor is my opinion of you. I’m not the type to pine, buddy. I don’t believe in one true love. If there’s nothing more than a frankly awesome friendship here, then that’s cool. There’ll be somebody else for all the other stuff. I know that’s not super-romantic, but it’s the truth.’

Matt huffed a laugh into the mattress. There was no point being annoyed by Foggy’s forthright nature. Not when it was something Matt generally admired. He sat up.

‘Can we give it time?’ he said. ‘I don’t know what I want and I don’t know how I feel. I… I don’t think I know myself as well as I should and… that means I don’t know what I think about all of this, and I don’t know how long it might take to work it out. I… Fogs, I really don’t want to feel like this is hanging over us. I don’t want it to ruin what we have.’

‘I’m _so_ with you there, buddy,’ Foggy said. ‘I brought it up because I don’t want a lack of communication to mess up our already fabulous partnership. We’ve got a good thing going here, Murdock. If it ends up involving squishy feelings and orgasms, that’s cool. If not – also cool.’

Matt froze. He wasn’t timid about sex, but right now there wasn’t a single coherent thought in his mind. He knew he was flushed, because his cheeks and even his forehead burned.

Foggy laughed. It was such an easy, relaxed sound.

Matt did the only reasonable thing in response. He gave Foggy’s shoulder a shove.

Foggy yelped as he fell off the bed. The thud as he hit the floor was loud, but that didn’t stop his laughter. After a moment, Matt was laughing too. The increased noise must have been a signal, because Anna came up the stairs and knocked on the door. She didn’t open it, just called out that they should come down for dinner as soon as they were ready.

Foggy sobered instantly and Matt climbed off the bed to pull him up. Once they were standing, he put his hands on Foggy’s shoulders.

‘You can do this,’ he said. ‘They love you. Any little discomforts they have are their own, and they know that.’ Matt took a steadying breath. ‘And you’re beautiful,’ he said. ‘No matter what you wear, that’s true, but it’s especially true when you’re being yourself.’

Foggy was quiet for a long moment and Matt began to feel uncomfortable.

‘I’m going to kiss your cheek,’ Foggy said, and then did it. Matt smiled. ‘Just so you know, you’re pretty special, yourself, buddy. Now, remember your part of the pact. No holding back, no matter how uncomfortable.’

‘Deal,’ Matt said. He moved in quickly and hefted Foggy over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. Foggy was heavy, but nowhere near too much for Matt to carry.

Foggy shrieked. ‘No! Put me down, Matthew! This is not what I meant! Unhand me, you fiend!’

Matt had got his glasses on and the door open, but wasn’t sure he could fit through safely with Foggy flailing as he was. ‘Fine,’ he relented. ‘Piggyback, then.’

‘Yes! Awesome! So much more acceptable!’ Foggy said. He moved behind Matt and there was a rustling of clothing. ‘You’ll have to bend down a bit. Perfect.’

Matt reached back and got his hands around Foggy’s thighs as Foggy jumped. They both spent a moment adjusting their holds and then Matt headed down the stairs.

 

Dinner was the strangest meal Matt had experienced since his arrival. There was an intense air of good will, which had possibly begun with Matt’s and Foggy’s dramatic entrance but didn’t seem to be settling as they ate. There was too much vigorous small talk, and overly emphatic comments about how good the food was. The silences in between felt strained, even though they should be normal while eating.

‘In case you’re wondering, because I don’t know if you can tell in this set up, buddy, Dad’s trying not to stare at me, and Mom’s trying not to stare at you. So! I’m going to go ahead and say some things. Mom, Dad, please stop worrying. The reason we’re all in this slightly uncomfortable situation is because Matt and I know that you’re both amazing people. We trust you. We appreciate you. If you want to ask something, ask it. If you need to stare, stare. If you want me to throw a dinner roll at Matt’s head to prove the remote wasn’t a fluke, I’m happy to oblige. _Please_ ask me to do that!’

‘No!’ came from Ed and Anna at the same time as Matt sensed the roll flying through the air. He grabbed it and lobbed it back at Foggy, whose surprised attempt to catch it sent it bouncing onto the floor.

‘Matt!’ Foggy said. ‘I wasn’t ready! You made me look like a klutz!’

Ed laughed. ‘Well done, Matt. Keep the little reprobate on his toes.’

‘Where’s the loyalty?!’ Foggy cried from where he was scooping the roll off the floor. He took it to the kitchen, and Matt heard it crash against the swinging bin lid like it had been thrown from across the room. ‘Yesss!’ Foggy said, which confirmed Matt’s theory.

Foggy returned to the table. ‘So-’ he said, at the same time Ed spoke.

‘I was staring because I’ve never noticed how much you look like your aunt Susan, before,’ he said. ‘And I don’t know if that’s something I should say.’

‘Oh, he does, too! Not so much now, but when she was younger… I hadn’t noticed.’

‘ _Anna_ ,’ Ed said. He sounded uncomfortable.

‘It’s fine,’ Foggy said. ‘Kind of weird because surely I don’t look that different right now than I do every other day, but you’re allowed to say that, Dad. You’re allowed to say anything.’

‘You’ve been crying. I made you cry,’ Ed said.

‘Yeah. You did.’ There was no resentment in his tone, just honesty.

‘I don’t want that,’ Ed said.

‘I know, Dad. Like I said, I trust you.’

In the silence that followed, Matt felt acutely aware of his tendency to hide his own vulnerability, while Foggy stepped up every time. He wasn’t sure how Stick had every thought that kind of honesty was a weakness.

‘Well, then,’ Anna said, ‘while we’re at it: Matt, honey, I’m sorry I was staring. I just haven’t seen you look as happy as you did when you came downstairs. You looked your age, and it made me realise I usually think of you as older.’

‘Well, I am more mature than Foggy,’ Matt said. He’d once thought it was true, but he didn’t anymore.

‘It’s the snarky, dry humour,’ Foggy said. ‘It makes him seem like a crusty old man.’

‘I don’t know what you mean. I’m witty, not snarky.’

‘You’re both too smooth for anyone’s good,’ Ed said. ‘The legal profession has no idea what it’ll have on its hands the day Columbia sets you loose.’

‘Ain’t that the truth, buddy.’

‘Absolutely,’ Matt said. It was still two years away, but the future seemed more tangible than it had in a while.

‘So,’ Anna said, ‘we had some ideas while we were out, about the next few months. We were hoping to discuss them, but it can wait if now’s not the time.’

‘Fog?’ Matt asked.

‘Yeah, I’m good, buddy. How about you? It’s been a long day.’

It had. It felt more like a week. ‘I’m fine,’ Matt said. He didn’t want to wait.

‘Great,’ Anna said. ‘This shouldn’t take long. First thing: Matt, Ed told me you’re uncomfortable about not paying your way. We discussed possibilities and decided that it’s best if you just make peace with it. You’re not adding much to our expenses and, anyway, accepting your money suggests a different relationship than the one we want. It’s not up for debate.’

‘Oh, my god, Murdock, you’re face just went through, like, ten different expressions in, what? Thirty seconds? I think that’s a record.’

Ed sighed. ‘Ignore him, Matt,’ he said, with an increasingly familiar mix of fondness and exasperation.

‘Nooo! Don’t mess this up, Dad. It’s a precarious moment! Mom got him to stop on uncomfortable-acceptance instead of feigned-agreement-while-already-considering-all-the-options-to-get-his-own-way. If you humour him, he’ll regress. I know of what I speak.’

Matt groaned and slumped in his chair. When he was low enough, he kicked Foggy under the table, then grinned when Foggy yelped.

Foggy kicked back but missed. ‘No fair! You can see through the table!’ he said.

‘Foggy, I’m _blind_ ,’ Matt said.

‘Fine. You can super-sense through the table. How many fingers am I holding up,’ he said.

Matt laughed. He didn’t need to try and work it out. It was obvious from the tone.

‘Foggy!’ Ed and Anna said, even though Foggy’s hand was under the table.

‘Second thing,’ Anna said. ‘Wait, you can see through walls?’

‘I’m blind, Anna,’ Matt said, with a very different tone than he’d used on Foggy. He could feel the heat from her face, hear her increased heart rate and breathing. ‘I can’t see _anything_. I can detect heat through walls, can hear all the sounds that bodies make, and it’s enough to build an accurate idea of what a person is doing. But just because I can, doesn’t mean I do.’

‘Oh, come on, Matt, don’t tell me you don’t check if there’s a shower free before bothering to head to the bathroom in the morning. Actually, why haven’t I thought of getting you to check for me?’

So much for soothing Anna’s embarrassment. ‘I can tell by sound, not heat, and, yes, I check, but there’s no detail in what I discern. I have no idea what anybody looks like, no idea about facial expressions. Even in the same room, nudity doesn’t register much differently than someone who’s fully dressed – slightly stronger smells, the absence of rustling fabric. It doesn’t translate into anything particularly intimate. It’s not that kind of image.’

‘That’s astonishing,’ Ed said. ‘If I went into the kitchen and waved, you’d see that?’

‘I’m _blind_ , Ed.’

Ed laughed. ‘Yeah, yeah, you know what I mean. Don’t sass me, Matthew. How did I not pick you as a trouble maker?’

‘So, when people are, ah, being intimate?’ Anna asked.

‘ _Foggy_ ,’ Ed said, while Foggy was still taking a breath.

Matt was impressed with Ed’s foresight. He steeled himself against embarrassment, because Anna deserved the truth. ‘It’s difficult not to notice some sounds, but once I identify them I do my best to ignore them. I have an analogy. I’m not sure about it, because I became blind long before I was old enough to encounter porn. But imagine if everywhere you went, all the time, there were great big screens showing all sorts of porn – at the supermarket, the bank, cafés, billboards. Imagine you’re exposed to that for about fifteen years, while those screens never turn off. That’s the world I live in. There was a brief period in my mid-teens where the constant barrage was difficult, for reasons you can probably imagine, but that was a long time ago. I’m sure you’re familiar with the idea of desensitisation. I can honestly say that I don’t have a shred of voyeuristic interest in what other people do, and that there isn’t anything I haven’t heard and learned to ignore.’

‘Literally all the time?’ Foggy asked.

‘Fog.’

‘No, really. Like, right now?’

Matt was already blushing from explaining to Anna, but maybe this would help her understand how little it mattered to him. He took a minute to scan the area.

‘Literally all the time,’ he said. ‘I have no intention of working out the details but, yes, right now. Also, one of your neighbours has a fish tank, another one has two birds in a cage, someone recently opened a jar of kimchi that’s seriously fermented, and someone is crying. Right now, the crying is hardest to ignore.’

‘Oh, sweetheart,’ Anna said. ‘That can’t be easy.’

‘It’s fine, Anna. Like I said, I don’t usually pay attention. I’m sure you don’t notice the sound of every car that goes down the street, although I assume you can hear them?’

‘Right. Of course,’ she said.

‘How about we leave it there for tonight?’ Ed said. ‘Foggy, you look tired, sweetheart. Your Mom and I’ll clear away what’s left of dinner, if that’s alright, Anna?’

‘Of course. I just… I don’t want to let them go,’ Anna said. ‘You know we’re here for both of you, right? Anything you need.’

‘It’s fine, Mom. We’re fine,’ Foggy moved to pull Anna up from her seat and hugged her. ‘Get over here, Murdock,’ he said, and reached out a hand to Matt.

Matt approached a little warily but as soon as he was close, Anna let go of Foggy and latched on to him. He wrapped his arms around her and she squeezed him tight.

‘I’m sorry if I made you feel like you had to explain yourself,’ she said.

‘It’s fine, Anna. It was a reasonable question,’ Matt said.

‘I didn’t upset you?’

‘No. Really, it’s fine.’

‘I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable here.’

That made Matt smile. ‘I don’t remember the last time I felt this comfortable in someone’s home,’ he said.

‘He thinks that’s comforting,’ Foggy said.

‘Hush, you. Leave him be,’ Anna said.

‘Alright, alright. Enough of this love fest. I’m going to bed. Are you coming, Matt?’

For a moment, Matt thought of lying with Foggy pressed against his side, and the sound of Foggy’s slow, sleepy breaths. It wasn’t what Foggy was asking, though, and what Matt really wanted was to meditate. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘But this time, you carry me.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it's not too painful that Matt, Ed and Anna have their own issues to work through around Foggy's gender identity, but I feel that's realistic. In my experience, people can be fully accepting but still have their own social conditioning to deal with. I think the difference between people who are accepting and those who aren't is that some people see the challenge to their preconceived notions as a gift, and others see it as an imposition. Matt, Ed and Anna definitely see Foggy as a gift.


	15. Without words

Braids, Foggy had decided, were best for avoiding helmet hair. The rest of his choices, though, had nothing to do with practicality and were based entirely on overthrowing inner demons. Bright red runners, vibrant purple jeans, a pale mauve shirt that was soft and flowey and almost reached his knees. Over the top of that, his long, dark blue vest. Not super protective but he didn’t plan to crash.

And, yep, he’d described his outfit to Matt. That wasn’t awkward at all. It was just an intellectual quandary: was it weird, or being a decent human being to describe something like that in this situation? Once his squirming discomfort had faded, Foggy had decided to assign it a neutral status and add it to the casual descriptive commentary that was a normal part of their interactions.

He was already working on updating his narrative script, anyway. Small changes that were less along the lines of: _there’s a dog over to the left that I swear looks like Canine Tony Stark_ … and more: _I swear that dog looks like Canine Tony Stark – tell me, does it smell like a high-end alcoholic?_ Because the next step was to get Matt to think of it as a two way street, or a tidal flow, or something metaphorically much more dynamic, but which equally implied a relaxed state of mutuality. The point was, Matt could provide just as much detail that was out of _Foggy’s_ reach. Obviously not icky stuff – it was clearly important to Matt that he minimise the invasive factor, which, potential for fun aside, made a lot of sense.

It was probably naïve, but Foggy hoped that goofing around and pushing Matt to use his abilities in more light-hearted ways might help break down some of the bullshit conditioning from when Matt was a child… or, alright, maybe that was more than naïve. But. Foggy wasn’t sure what else to do and he knew, theoretically, at least, that he couldn’t shove Matt in Siobhan’s direction and have her magically fix everything. That wasn’t how counselling worked, and Matt had shown no personal interest when Foggy had mentioned his own sessions.

So. Having Matt lead them on a quest to find the biggest dog or the best carrot cake within five city blocks was good. Also as a weather gauge.  Who knew barometric pressure was an actual thing that meant something? Matt did, was the answer – though he insisted it was no big deal, just an instinct he’d developed without even being fully aware of it.

Which meant today’s adventure could be undertaken in the sure knowledge that, whatever other disasters might befall them, the weather was on their side. Not that Foggy was prone to pessimistic thinking in general, but super-sensitive _everything_ and an absence of sight didn’t necessarily sound like the best starting point for travelling very fast, with nothing but the wind around them. He wasn’t sure how Matt would get his bearings with the noise and helmet and everything. Foggy’d ridden with passengers who became rigid and unpredictable weights on the back of his bike. Not fun.

Even though Foggy doubted Matt, spectacular acrobat that he was, could ever be so unbalanced, he’d still insisted Matt borrow his old leather jacket. Matt didn’t own anything like it, and what if the noise and vibrations messed with his senses and he fell off the bike? Also, it would cut some of the wind and hopefully keep things fun instead of overwhelming. Also-also, Foggy _kind of_ loved seeing Matt wear it… a grey t-shirt, black jeans, and a beat up leather jacket should not look that good. Even if they stayed with being just friends, Foggy was _absolutely_ allowed to appreciate that.

 

Unsurprisingly, it turned out there’d been no need to worry about Matt. He clung tightly to Foggy through the start-stop crawl from their apartment to the Boulevard, but once they hit the relatively open road, Matt noticeably relaxed. His arms loosened around Foggy, and he began shifting smoothly in response to corners and lane changes. On straight stretches where Foggy could really pick up speed, Matt leaned in close and tightened his hold again, but from the way his forearms were positioned across Foggy’s chest, Foggy was _pretty sure_ that wasn’t about fear.

After riding for forty minutes or so, they pulled up by the water at Bayville. Matt practically vaulted off the bike, and was standing beside Foggy seconds after they came to a stop. The grin on his face was kind of intense, as was his helmet hair, and he was literally bouncing on the balls of his feet.

‘That was amazing!’ Matt said. ‘How could you have ever chosen to stop doing that?! I mean, I know there was a good reason – but the wind, Fogs, and the way every movement connects your body with the bike, and even the noise, the vibration… we should keep going!’

He was speaking pretty loudly, and Foggy wasn’t sure if it was excitement, or if prolonged exposure to the bike’s engine had thrown Matt’s calibration somehow. It was adorable, anyway.

‘Buddy, we’ll definitely ride some more but, before we do, I need coffee, lunch, and to sit on the end of the pier over there, dangling my legs above the mysterious depths of the Atlantic. Foggy pulled off his helmet and ran a hand over his hair. Not as neat as it had been, but it definitely wasn’t as wild as Matt’s. Foggy’d never been able to make dishevelled look good. He climbed off the bike, heaved it onto its stand, and locked their helmets at the back.

Matt still looked buzzed, but he began scoping out the area. He was turning in a slow circle, angling his head one way and then another. When he was done he put a hand on the seat of the bike, smoothing along it almost like he was petting a dog. The grin hadn’t shifted one bit. ‘The only coffee I can smell is burnt,’ he said. ‘Maybe we should try somewhere else. There’s probably a great place further out.’

‘Real subtle, but I’ll suffer bad coffee. Now let me fix your hair so we don’t scare anybody.’

Foggy reached out to settle the tufts pulled up by Matt’s helmet, but before he made contact, Matt grabbed him around the middle and spun them in a circle. Even when Foggy’s feet returned to the ground, Matt stayed close, arms wrapped tight.

‘Um… hello?’ Foggy said. This wasn’t a bad development, as such, but it _was_ a little weird given Matt’s obvious confusion the day before.

‘How much faster could we go?’

Matt’s face had the fervent edge Foggy associated with his mom’s occasional PMS fuelled quests for the perfect chocolate.

Foggy smiled. ‘You’re an adrenaline junky, Murdock! Look at you!’

‘It’s like flying, Fogs,’ Matt said, as though he was sharing a sacred truth.

Sometimes, the affection Foggy felt for the dork was overwhelming. He reached up with both hands and ruffled Matt’s hair until it was a total disaster. ‘Change of plans,’ he said. ‘We’re going for a walk along the shore so you can work off some of the buzz, then we’ll re-evaluate.’

Matt held Foggy’s arm as they wandered along the waterfront, but after a few minutes and a couple questions to confirm their surroundings, he handed Foggy the leather jacket and declared that he wanted to run – and, yep, it was _totally_ a declaration. There was an assertive edge to Matt’s voice, which Foggy decided—as he watched Matt stretch the distance between them—was most likely directed at whatever inner voice usually told him this was something he shouldn’t do. Foggy hoped that voice was realising it should shut the hell up, because freedom of movement was obviously as vital to Matt as breathing.

It was odd to recall that only a few months ago, Foggy had firmly believed Matt was an inexplicably well-built desk dweller. He’d believed a lot of things back then, though, and he’d wanted _nothing_ more than confirmation that he knew Matt Murdock through and through. Now, Foggy knew he didn’t, and it was fine. He hoped to never stop being surprised by Matt… like the comfort snuggle on Matt’s bed the previous evening. _That_ had been surprising. As had Matt’s sweet words, and _picking Foggy up_ , and Matt’s “ _maybe”_. All of that had been… unexpected.

Foggy tracked Matt as he got further away. The path along the shore curved around the bay, but it was flat and kind of bleak, actually. A few trees and shelters, but nothing much of interest. Foggy was probably a sap for thinking that the best thing about the view was the sight of Matt moving freely among the kids on bikes; dogs and dog walkers; parents with prams, and the like. The sunlight glinting off the water was pretty nice, too, but, yeah, no. Foggy’s gaze was fixed on the crazy person running in jeans on a warm day.

Which made it a good time to remind himself of the list he’d made with Siobhan all those months ago. Ever since Matt had shared how out of control he felt after Foggy’s dad talked to him about Stick, Foggy had made a point of revisiting The List every night. He knew it by heart, but he wanted to be as careful as possible not to stomp all over Matt’s boundaries. Matt had admitted how vulnerable he felt, and given Matt’s tendency to hide what he though of as weaknesses, Foggy hadn’t taken that conversation lightly.

The relevant point now, though, wasn’t about boundaries as much as it was about expectations. _Relationships grow and evolve, but they should be allowed to do so without expectations or pressure._ Foggy was committed to not pressuring Matt, or himself, about any potential changes in the dynamic between them.  And it was true what he’d said: if it didn’t work out that they could be _more_ to each other, that was fine. Foggy’d never expected to meet anyone like Matt, but having Matt in his life just proved that the world was full of amazing people. There was no way Foggy was only ever going to meet _one_ of them. Plus, he’d worked hard to let go of those pesky conditioned beliefs that he was only loveable if someone loved him. He had no plan to back-slide on that one.

So, he wasn’t going to get hung up on this. He was going to value what he had with Matt, and just let it be – which was seriously going to take some work if Matt was going to do things like literally sweep him off his feet, give compliments so earnestly, and hold him like he was precious… but all of that could _totally_ be part of an awesome friendship.

Huh.

Actually, it _really_ could. And that was _honestly_ fine. It was possible Matt just wasn’t wired, or whatever, to be attracted to anyone but women, or people with breasts and vaginas – strange, but some people were like that. Or maybe there were other reasons why their relationship would stay platonic.

There was a subtle difference between _thinking_ something, and _knowing it_ but, as Foggy watched Matt turn and start running back towards him, he _knew_ that things between them were already good. He could relax and trust that there was no need to push.

 

Matt was a sweaty mess by the time he returned to where Foggy was walking. Foggy directed him towards a faucet at the side of a picnic shelter, and Matt stuck his head and shoulders under the running water. He shook himself off like a dog and made no effort to straighten his hair. He was smiling, but it was less manic than before his run.

Foggy had been keen for coffee and lunch, but seeing Matt so relaxed and mussed made him reluctant to go somewhere as mundane as a café. He directed them back towards the pier, and Matt seemed happy to play along.

Stretched out on their backs on the splintered grey boards, Foggy took a moment to appreciate his surroundings. There were a few older folk out for a stroll, a couple kids further down. The sky was clear. ‘So, the ocean kind of stinks,’ he said. ‘Is that whole thing about _fresh sea air_ a lie, do you think, or do we just live in the one place on earth where the water always smells funky?’

‘It’s the fuel from all the different boats and ships, the run-off pollution, seaweed, algae, dead fish, dog shit, bird shit, and salt. I think the salt is what makes it smell so flat. The rest is just pungent.’

Foggy laughed. ‘Well, that clears that up. Thanks, buddy. It’s always good to have an expert on hand.’ He squinted at Matt through the bright sunshine. The dork was so impressed with himself that he was smiling up at the sky. ‘So, tell me,’ Foggy said, ‘speed and noise and whatever really do it for you, huh? I feel like I should have warned you that some people find the vibrations from a motorcycle engine kind of… _pleasant_.’

‘I wasn’t… Foggy!’ Matt laughed and rolled onto his side, head propped on one arm and the other hand splayed on the rough wood between them. ‘It wasn’t like that. I…’

There was a long pause, and Foggy could see that Matt was thinking seriously about it. He was running his fingers over the boards, mapping out the deep grooves and sunken bolt heads.

‘The noise is relentless. On the bike, I mean. And when we were going fast there was almost no change in the discernible wind direction, just the unbroken force of it. The vibration of the engine and the movement of the bike kind of… I don’t know. I don’t know what comparison to make,’ Matt said.

He wasn’t always great at expressing the complexity of his feelings. Foggy was used to studying him in search of missing information. ‘I thought I was just teasing you for being such an excitable puppy, but this is an actual thing, isn’t it?’

‘A thing?’ Matt said, but it didn’t sound quite like a denial, despite the raised eyebrow. He sat up and began fiddling with the drying clumps of hair at his crown.

Foggy sat up too. It was almost noon and there was no shade on the pier. ‘Get over here, Murdock. I wanna sit on the edge,’ he said. At least it would put his face out of the sun.

They both shuffled and settled facing out over the water – which Foggy now knew _way_ too much about. ‘I didn’t mean it was a _big thing_ ,’ he said. ‘Just a thing. You know: a “small t” thing. Although it’s cool if it’s a “Capital T” thing. We all have those.’

‘ _Fog._ ’

Foggy turned towards Matt, one leg dangling over the side, and the other bent between them. He waited.

Matt began to rub his hands over his face, then grimaced and pulled them away. He sighed. ‘You know with pain, how it helps if you give all your attention to the sensation, and stop fighting it? It’s like that… or… not quite. I don’t mean it’s painful, just that the brain responds differently to strong sensations depending on whether you stay relaxed and accept them, or fight against them. Riding like that provides _a lot_ of strong sensations.’

‘My idea of pain management involves ibuprofen and comfort foods, buddy. You know that. But, hmm… so it’s about letting go and, like, relaxing? I mean, that makes sense, sort of… but I have to say, you didn’t seem particularly Zen when you hopped off the bike, buddy. I’d go so far as to say that you seemed very _un_ relaxed.’

Matt started swinging his legs. ‘Maybe… maybe it’s like freefall… I imagine when someone jumps out of a plane, the brain wants to insist on opening the ‘chute straight away, but somehow people let go and enjoy the fall. It’s not that they don’t have a self-preservation instinct. They just put it aside, let it go. If they fought against freefall, every jump would be traumatic. The sensory overload from the bike is maybe like that. If I fought against it, it would be Hell. Letting it in, though.…’ Matt shrugged.

‘So it is an adrenaline thing?’

‘More an endorphin thing, I suppose. Adrenaline’s the fight or flight one, and it’s definitely not that. I’m very familiar with what adrenaline rushes feel like.’ Matt smiled.

‘How is that a happy thought?’ Foggy asked.

‘From training,’ Matt clarified.

‘Right. Of course.’ It made sense, Foggy supposed. Cirque du Soleil acrobats probably got through their performances on adrenaline as well… which was not strictly comparable. Even if Foggy tended to think of Matt’s moves as acrobatic, he knew, in reality, that Matt was trained to fight. ‘So, endorphins, they’re, like, happy hormones, yeah? Still… freefall sounds like there’s some aspect of _feel the fear and do it anyway_.’

‘Yeah, there’s… there’s plenty of that,’ Matt said.

Foggy waited for him to continue, but Matt just subtly shifted into the shy-awkward version of himself. Foggy gently bumped Matt’s calve with his foot. Matt didn’t respond immediately, but after a few seconds he turned until his knee bumped Foggy’s knee. Foggy pushed back against it.

‘If you hadn’t told me what’s in this water, I’d push you in, Murdock,’ he said.

‘You know I’d take you down with me.’

Foggy huffed a laugh. ‘No, you wouldn’t.’

‘Probably not,’ Matt agreed.

‘No “probably” about it, buddy, but I’ll let you keep your air of danger. Real talk, though: _please_ tell me there’s actually a place nearby that doesn’t have burnt coffee. I _need_ caffeine, Matt. It’s like a drug!’

‘ _Like_ a drug? You’re ridiculous,’ Matt said, but his tone made Foggy’s insides smile.

 

Even sitting in a picturesque picnic shelter overlooking the fetid-yet-sparkling-ocean, Foggy’s burger and coffee had been, well… _average_ was probably a kindly description. Matt’s salad wrap hadn’t caused the _kitten sniffing dish soap_ face to make an appearance, and bottled juice was a safe bet as far as Foggy was aware, so Matt had probably made the better choices, overall. Foggy suspected that knowing about poor hygiene standards and less-than-fresh ingredients was a bit like finding out Santa Clause wasn’t real. There were some things you just couldn’t un-know, no matter how much you might want to, and no matter how much it spoiled the fun. Still, there were so many things Matt chose to tune out, so why not that one?

Foggy was about to ask, when Matt straightened his posture and tilted his face towards the sky in that way that meant he’d been thinking about something and was choosing his words. Foggy’d never noticed a sighted person move their head quite as freely as Matt sometimes did, and he wondered if it was a result of different sensory orientation or if sighted people unconsciously self-policed in response to visible social cues. As a kid, Foggy’d tried to imagine what it would feel like if his brain were in the middle of his body instead of being in his head. He’d wondered if he’d notice his limbs differently if he were more like a starfish. Obviously, Matt’s thought processes happened in his head, but he seemed to receive so much information through his whole body—as well as being able to walk on his hands!—that it was probably the closest anyone could ever get. _Very_ cool.

‘Adrenaline and endorphins, they’re different but kind of similar, in a way,’ Matt said. ‘The rush, I mean. Not the feeling of it, but the intensity. I… I’ve always been….’

‘The child of a guy who literally got into fist fights for a living?’

Matt smiled like Foggy had given him a gift. ‘Yeah. I suppose I am,’ he said. ‘I hadn’t thought of Dad’s post-win highs in that way. Maybe because even when he won, he was respectful – proud, but never arrogant, always with something good to say about his opponent. Sometimes, though… sometimes he’d be so pumped up from the win that he’d sing at the top of his voice, no matter that it was the middle of the night. His accent would thicken, some of Grandma’s Irish breaking through.’

Matt was quiet for a moment, lost in thought. ‘I wonder if those were the nights he knew the fight hadn’t been fixed – that he’d won because he was the best. After all, there must have been times the fight was thrown in his favour, and those couldn’t have felt like victories.’

They hadn’t talked about the circumstances of Matt’s dad being murdered, even though Matt had mentioned the “random attack” had been a cover up. Foggy wasn’t sure if this was the time or place to ask about it.

‘Elektra, though,’ Matt said, neatly rejecting the possibility of pulling on that thread. ‘Everything was a victory to her, because she made her own rules. She wouldn’t tolerate what she called my _catholic orphanage repression_. The things we did… the freedom… it was like falling. I loved it.’

Foggy scrunched his burger wrapper into a ball. His hands were kind of sticky, which wasn’t great, but otherwise he felt fine. He was curious. He genuinely wanted to understand what Matt was telling him. He was still certain that Elektra Natchios was bad news, but he didn’t feel compelled to make Matt agree with him. Foggy was going to buy Siobhan chocolates and flowers. Scratch that. He was going to buy her the best bottle of whiskey he could afford.

‘The things you did?’ he said, with full eyebrow waggle implied.

They were sitting side by side, and Matt nudged their shoulders together.

‘I wasn’t talking about sex, Fog. I mean, we did... ah…’ Matt sucked in a breath that sounded like every detail of that ‘ah’ was very fresh in his mind, then blushed like the sweet Irish Catholic he was.

‘Ah?’ Foggy asked.

‘Alright, a couple times we, ah, we had sex in… questionable places. But that wasn’t what I meant, or, well, not all of it.’

‘No, of course not. You were totally not saying that being reckless was like foreplay. Nothing like a mating dance… except… hang on! You’re like… what were those animals… I saw them on some nature documentary. Can’t remember what they were, but I’m pretty sure it was narrated by David Attenborough. Which is really unsexy, now that I think about it. Can you imagine that guy in your bedroom, or, you know, whatever _public place_ you’re doing it. He’d be all hushed tones and jubilant commentary… actually, that would be hilarious! Would it still be porn if David Attenborough did the voiceover? I think not!’

‘Definitely science, if Attenborough’s involved,’ Matt said.

‘Oh, wait, I wouldn’t think nature documentaries would translate well into audio mode. How are you familiar with David Attenborough?’

‘My grandma deemed them suitable viewing when she used to babysit, before the accident. I wasn’t a huge fan at the time but, actually, he’s the reason I have a working concept of kangaroos. Without Attenborough, I’d never have known that even God gets stoned, occasionally.’

‘Matthew Murdock! I can’t believe you said that! And even if you’re right, creating everything in six days would have been a heavy load. It would definitely strain the Manifesting muscles. If there was any drug use, I’m sure it was medicinal.’

‘You don’t even believe in God.’

‘I’m going to be a lawyer, Murdock. I take the cases that land in my lap. Besides, which of us is the more virtuous representative, here, buddy? The clean-living agnostic or the exhibitionist believer?’

‘Foggy! I wasn’t talking about exhibitionism. I wasn’t even _trying_ to talk about sex.’

‘In public places. Which include?’

‘A stolen convertible… the boxing ring where my dad used to train… any empty room or closet at the random parties Elektra enjoyed. The, ah, the social sciences library.’

Sure, that last bit sounded a tad sheepish but, mostly, Matt looked pleased. Kind of smug, even.

‘That is not…’ Foggy laughed, even as a wave of sadness passed through him. It was accompanied by a rush of words jumbled in his head, but he didn’t feel like taking a look. He’d sort them later. ‘I am _way_ too vanilla for you, buddy,’ he said, which was probably what all the words came down to, anyway.

‘Fog.’

‘No judgement, honestly, Matt, but I’m _really_ not the kind of person who enjoys risky behaviour.’

‘No parkour dates. Got it,’ Matt said. He reached out unerringly and took Foggy’s hand. To Matt’s credit, he didn’t screw up his face at the residual stickiness.

Foggy’s thoughts untangled a little. ‘Some people who haven’t been with someone with the same anatomy before, they… it’s... Matt, please don’t pursue _whatever this is_ if it’s just another illicit rush. I can’t… I can’t be that for you. For anyone.’

Matt’s grip tightened. ‘I wouldn’t do that, Fog.’

Foggy sighed. ‘I know you wouldn’t do it on purpose, buddy, but, honestly, I’m not sure you’d realise what was going on until the novelty wore off.’

‘I’m not sure which of us you’re insulting. You’re not a _novelty_ ,’ Matt said, and he sounded annoyed. He didn’t let go of Foggy’s hand, though.

‘I’m not insulting anyone, Matt. I’m just being smart about this. Five minutes ago you were looking kinda turned on, remembering your adventures with Elektra, and that’s fine. It is. But I’m nothing like her. She and I couldn’t be more different. So if the rush you got from being on the back of my bike makes you think that we could have something like you had with her, I just… I want you to understand that I’m not that person. Don’t get me wrong, I totally adore your-’

‘May I kiss you?’

‘What… Matt, are you listening to me?’

‘I’m listening, Fogs, of course I am. May I? Please.’

It was probably weird that Foggy wished he could ask his mom what she thought, but she’d taken a gamble on his dad and it had paid off. ‘I’d say _nothing you wouldn’t do outside a church_ , but in light of recent revelations I’m no longer sure that would have the desired effect.’

Matt let go of Foggy’s hand and turned on the bench so his back was to the table. He held Foggy’s face gently in his hands and leaned in, then paused with only space for breath between them. ‘I still don’t know what this is, and you’re right, it’s different from anything I’ve ever felt. But it has nothing to do with anatomy or illicit thrills, and everything to do with you.’ Matt touched his lips to Foggy’s in a brief, firm kiss, then stayed close. ‘I’ve never known anyone like you.’

‘You’re such a smooth talker,’ Foggy said, when he could get his words to work.

‘Don’t, Foggy. Please.’ Matt sat back and took Foggy’s hands in his.

‘I… don’t know what else to say. I’m… I… did _not_ know being happy could feel so terrifying.’

‘Happy?’

‘Of course. I’m sorry, Matt, of course I’m happy. It’s just… I wander through life, telegraphing everything I think and feel, while you… well, you seem to be staying still, and then suddenly you flip a switch and you’re somewhere new. It can be hard to put faith in that, even though I see you do it all the time.’

‘That’s… fair,’ Matt said. ‘I don’t know what I’m asking you to put faith in. Do you need me to work it out before we do this?’

‘Maybe. No.’

‘May I?’

‘Yeah,’ Foggy said. The four or five kisses Matt pressed to his lips were warm and soft, and definitely church appropriate, but they left Foggy speechless all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> A quick confession that I know almost nothing about the way universities in the US are organised. It seems like attendance and participation requirements are much more relaxed here in Australia. And, honestly, my mind balks at the idea of an academic year that doesn't run parallel with a calendar year.
> 
> Also, my grip on US English is minimal, and trying to use it does strange things to my ancestral British English heart.
> 
> So, with that in mind, feel free to ignore or comment on any glaring errors of any sort. I'm happy to fix what I can as long as it doesn't fundamentally change the flow of the story.
> 
> Oh, and all case names and other details are fabrications. My understanding of the US legal system is sketchy, at best.


End file.
